ON  WITH 

TOFLCHY 


THE  LIBRARY 
OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


ON  WITH  TORCHY 


By  SEWELL  FORD 

TORCHY 

TRYING  OUT  TORCHY 

ON  WITH  TORCHY 

ODD  NUMBERS 
"  Shorty  McCabe  " 


r-  fo.sr*«*- 


"WELL,  IF  i  EVER!  LOOK  WHERE  YOUR 

SHOULDERS  COME!"   SAYS  VEK. 


ON    WITH 
TORCHY 


BY 


SEWELL   FORD 

Author  of  "Torchy,"  "Trying  out  Torchy. 
"Odd  Numbers,"  etc.,  etc. 


ILLUSTRATIONS  BY  FOSTER  LINCOLN 


New  York 
Edward  J.  Clode 

Publisher 


COPYRIGHT,  1913,  1914,  BT 
SEWKLL  FORD 

CorrmoHT,  1914,  BT 
EDWARD    J.   CLODS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  CHANCING  IT  FOB  VEE 1 

II.  PULLING  A  SLEUTH  STUNT 20 

III.  WHEN  IKA  SHOWED  SOME  PEP 38 

IV.  TOBCHY   BUGS   THE   SYSTEM 56 

V.  BBEEZING  BY  WITH  PEGGY 75 

VI.  GLOOM  SHUNTING  FOB  THE  Boss      ....  93 

VII.  TOBCHY  IN  ON  THE  DBAW Ill 

VIII.  GLADYS  IN  A  DOUBLE  BILL 131 

IX.  LATE  RETUBNS  ON  POPOVEB 148 

X.  MEBBY  DODGES  A  DEAD  HEAT 165 

XI.  THE  PASSING  BY  OF  BUNNY 185 

XII.  THE  GLAD  HAIL  FOB  TOBCHY 205 

XIII.  AUNTY  FLAGS  A  ROSY  ONE 222 

XIV.  CUTTING  IN  ON  THE  BLISS 244 

XV.  BEING  SICCED  ON  PEBCEY 264 

XVI.  How  WHITY  GUNKED  THE  PLOT     .       .       .       .281 

XVII.  TOBCHY  GETS  A  THBOUGH  WISE  301 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

"  WELL,  IF  I  EVER  !    LOOK  WHERE  YOUR  SHOULDERS 

COME  ! " Frontispiece 

FACING    PAGE 

"  BY  GORRY  ! "  EXPLODES  IRA  AS  HE  GETS  His  FIRST 

GLIMPSE 50 

SISTER  HAS  LANDED  A  SMACK  ON  His  JAW  ...  85 
BELIEVE  ME,  IT  WAS  SOME  ARTISTIC  MAKEUP!  .  .  134 
"  AH,  FLUTTER  BY,  IDLE  ONE  ! "  SAYS  I  ...  186 

THEN  MY  ARM  MUST  HAVE  SLIPPED — AND  THE  SIDE 

CLINCH  WA'N'T  DISTURBED 238 

WE  WAS  RIGHT  IN  THE  MIDST  OF  PRACTISIN'  THE 
SIDEWISE  DIP,  WHEN  WHO  SHOULD  SHOW  UP 
BUT  THE  HAPPY  BRIDEGROOM  ....  257 

WE  WAS  RIGHT  IN  THE  MIDST  OF  THE  SCRIMMAGE 

WHEN  IN  WALKS  VEE  311 


ON  WITH  TORCHY 

CHAPTER  I 

CHANCING  IT   FOB  VEE 

SAY,  what's  next  to  knowin'  when  you're 
well  off?     Why,  thinkin'  you  are. 

Which  is  a  little  nugget  of  wisdom  I 
panned  out  durin'  a  chat  I  had  not  long  ago 
with  Mr.  Quinn,  that  I  used  to  work  under  when 
I  was  on  the  door  of  the  Sunday  sheet,  three 
or  four  years  back. 

"  Hail,  Torchy!  "  says  he,  as  we  meets  ac 
cidental  on  Broadway.  "  Still  carrying  the 
burning  bush  under  your  hat,  aren't  you!  ' 

I  grins  good-natured  at  his  old  josh,  just 
as  I  used  to  about  twice  a  week  reg'lar,  and 
admits  that  I  am. 

"  You  wa'n't  lookin'  for  me  to  fade  to  an 
ash  blond,  was  you?  "  says  I. 

"  Ah!  "  says  he.  "I  see  the  brilliance  is  not 
all  on  the  outside.  Well,  what  use  are  you  put 
ting  it  to?  Who  are  you  with  now?  ' 

"  Same  concern,"  says  I.  "  Corrugated 
Trust. " 


2  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

"  As  First,  or  Second  Vice  President?  "  says 
he,  cockin'  his  head  on  one  side  humorous. 

"  Add  'em  together  and  multiply  by  three," 
says  I,  "  then  you'll  be  warm." 

"  I  don't  quite  get  the  result,"  says  he. 

"  Ever  hear  of  an  office-boy-de-luxe?  "  says  I. 
"  They  don't  print  it  on  the  letter-heads  yet,  or 
paint  it  on  the  ground-glass,  but  that's  my  real 
label.  I'm  the  only  one  in  New  York,  too." 

Mr.  Quinn  chuckles  and  goes  off  shakin'  his 
head.  I  expect  he 's  disappointed  that  I  Ve  stuck 
so  long  in  one  shop  without  climbin'  further 
up  the  ladder.  That's  what  he  was  always 
preachin'  at  me,  this  ladder-climbin'  advice. 
But  say,  hod  carriers  do  that.  Me  for  an  ex 
press  elevator  when  the  time  comes. 

But  meanwhile,  with  a  couple  of  bosses  like 
Old  Hickory  Ellins  and  Mr.  Robert,  it  ain't  so 
worse  sittin'  behind  the  brass  rail.  That's  one 
reason  I  ain't  changed.  Also  there's  that  little 
mine  enterprise  me  and  Mr.  Robert's  mixed  up 
in,  which  ain't  come  to  a  head  yet. 

Then — well,  then,  there's  Vee.  Go  on — hand 
me  the  jolly !  And  if  you  push  me  to  it  I  '11  admit 
I  ain't  any  speedy  performer  at  this  "  Oh, 
you!  "  game.  Mr.  Robert  he  thinks  it's  comic, 
when  he  has  the  kiddin'  fit  on,  to  remark  chuckly, 
"  Oh,  I  say,  Torchy,  have  you  seen  Miss  Vee 
lately!  " 

There's  others  too,  that  seems  to  get  a  lot  of 


CHANCING  IT  FOE  VEE  3 

satisfaction  shootin'  the  same  thing  at  me,  and 
they  sort  of  snicker  when  I  get  pink  in  the  ears. 
But,  say,  there's  a  heap  of  difference  between 
pickin'  peaches  from  an  easy  chair  under  the 
tree,  and  when  you  have  to  shin  the  garden  wall 
and  reach  through  the  barbed  wire  ornament  on 
top. 

Course,  I  ain't  comparin'  anything — but 
there's  Aunty.  Dear  old  girl!  Square  as  a 
brick,  and  about  as  yieldin';  good  as  gold  too, 
but  worth  more  per  ounce  than  any  coined  at  the 
mint;  and  as  foxy  in  the  mind  as  a  corporation 
lawyer  arguin'  before  the  Rapid  Transit  Com 
mission.  Also* I'm  as  welcome  to  Aunty's  eye 
sight  as  Eugene  V.  Debs  would  be  at  the  Union 
League  Club — just  about.  That  ain't  any  idle 
rumor,  either,  nor  something  that  was  hinted  to 
me  casual.  It's  first-hand  information,  hot  off 
the  bat. 

"  Boy,"  says  she,  glarin'  at  me  through  her 
gold  lorgnette  like  I  was  some  kind  of  insect 
specimen, '  l  do  I  understand  that  you  come  here 
to  see  my  niece?  " 

"  Well,"  says  I,  "  there's  you  and  her — 
guess!  " 

"  Humph!  "  she  snorts  indignant.  "  Then 
I  wish  you  to  know  that  your  visits  are  most 
unwelcome.  Is  that  quite  clear!  " 

"  I  get  the  outline,"  says  I.  "  But,  you 
see " 


4  ON  WITH  TOUCHY 

"  No  qualifications,  absolutely  none!  "  says 
she.  "  Good  afternoon,  young  man.  I  shall 
not  expect  you  to  return." 

11  Oh,  well,  in  that  case,"  says  I,  sidlin'  off, 
"  why— I— I  think  I'll  be  goin'." 

It  was  a  smear,  that's  all.  I  felt  about  as 
thick  through  as  a  Saratoga  chip,  and  not  half 
so  crisp.  Encouragin'  finish  for  an  afternoon 
call  that  I'd  been  bracin'  myself  up  to  for  weeks, 
wa'n't  it?  And  from  all  I  can  gather  from  a 
couple  of  sketchy  notes  Vee  gets  about  the  same 
line  of  advice  handed  her.  So  there  was  a 
debate  between  her  and  Aunty.  For  I  expect 
nobody  can  lay  the  law  down  flat  to  Vee  without 
strikin'  a  few  sparks  from  them  big  gray  eyes. 

But  of  course  Aunty  wins  out  in  the  end.  It's 
a  cinch,  with  everything  on  her  side.  Anyway, 
the  next  thing  I  knows  about  their  plans  is 
when  I  finds  their  names  in  the  sailin'  list,  bound 
for  the  Big  Ditch,  with  most  everyone  else  that 
could  get  away.  And  I  makes  my  discovery 
about  three  hours  after  the  boat  has  left. 

But  that  was  in  January.  And  I  expect  it 
was  a  fine  thing  for  Vee,  seein'  the  canal  before 
it  revised  the  geography,  and  dodgin'  all  kinds 
of  grip  weather,  and  meetin'  a  lot  of  new  peo 
ple.  And  if  it's  worth  all  that  bother  to  Aunty 
just  so  anybody  can  forget  a  party  no  more 
important  than  me — why,  I  expect  that's  all 
right  too. 


CHANCING  IT  FOE  VEE  5 

But  it's  just  like  some  folks  to  remember  what 
they're  ordered  to  forget.  Anyway,  I  got  bul 
letins  now  and  then,  and  I  was  fairly  well  posted 
as  to  when  Aunty  landed  back  in  New  York,  and 
where  she  unpacked  her  trunks.  That  helped 
some;  but  it  didn't  cut  the  barbed  wire 
exactly. 

And,  say,  I  was  gettin'  some  anxious  to  see 
Vee  once  more.  Nearly  two  weeks  she'd  been 
home,  and  not  so  much  as  a  glimpse  of  her !  I'd 
doped  out  all  kinds  of  brilliant  schemes;  but 
somehow  they  didn't  work.  No  lucky  breaks 
seemed  to  be  comin'  my  way,  either. 

And  then,  here  last  Sunday  after  dinner,  I 
just  hauls  out  that  church  weddin'  costume  I'd 
collected  once,  brushes  most  of  the  kinks  out  of 
my  red  hair,  sets  my  jaw  solid,  and  starts  to 
take  a  sportin'  chance.  On  the  way  up  I 
sketches  out  a  scenario,  which  runs  something 
like  this: 

A  maid  answers  the  ring.  I  ask  if  Miss  Vee 
is  in.  The  maid  goes  to  see,  when  the  voice  of 
Aunty  is  heard  in  the  distance,  "What!  A 
young  gentleman  asking  for  Verona?  No  card? 
Then  get  his  name,  Hortense."  Me  to  the  maid, 
"  Messenger  from  Mr.  Westlake,  and  would 
Miss  Vee  care  to  take  a  short  motor  spin.  Wait 
ing  below. ' '  Then  more  confab  with  Aunty,  and 
five  minutes  later  out  comes  Vee.  Finale:  Me 
and  Vee  climbin'  to  the  top  of  one  of  them 


6  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

Riverside  Drive  busses,  while  Aunty  dreams 
that  she 's  out  with  Sappy  Westlake,  the  chosen 
one. 

Some  strategy  to  that — what?  And,  sure 
enough,  the  piece  opens  a  good  deal  as  I'd 
planned;  only  instead  of  me  bein'  alone  when 
I  pushes  the  button,  hanged  if  two  young  chap 
pies  that  had  come  up  in  the  elevator  with  me 
don't  drift  along  to  the  same  apartment  door. 
We  swap  sort  of  foolish  grins,  and  when  Hor- 
tense  fin'ly  shows  up  everyone  of  us  does  a 
bashful  sidestep  to  let  the  others  go  first.  So 
Hortense  opens  on  what  looks  like  a  revolvin' 
wedge.  But  that  don't  trouble  her  at  all. 

* '  Oh,  yes, ' '  says  she,  swingin '  the  door  wide 
and  askin'  no  questions.  "  This  way,  please." 

Looked  like  we  was  expected;  so  there's  no 
duckin',  and  while  we're  drapin'  our  hats  on 
the  hall  rack  I'm  busy  picturin'  the  look  on 
Aunty's  face  when  she  singles  me  out  of  the 
trio.  They  was  panicky  thoughts,  them. 

But  a  minute  later  the  plot  is  still  further 
mixed  by  the  sudden  swishy,  swirly  entrance  of 
an  entire  stranger, — a  tall,  thin  female  with 
vivid  pink  cheeks,  a  chemical  auburn  tint  to  her 
raven  tresses,  and  long  jet  danglers  in  her  ears. 
She 's  draped  in  what  looks  like  a  black  silk  um 
brella  cover  with  rows  of  fringe  and  a  train 
tacked  to  it,  and  she  wears  a  red,  red  rose  co 
quettish  over  one  ear.  As  she  swoops  down 


CHANCING  IT  FOE  VEE  7 

on  us  from  the  drawin'  room  she  cuts  loose  with 
the  vivacious  chatter. 

"  Ah,  there  you  are,  you  dear,  darling  boys !  '• 
says  she.  ' '  And  the  Princess  Charming  is  hold 
ing  court  to-day.  Ah,  Reggy,  you  scamp !  But 
you  did  come,  didn't  you?  And  dear  Theodore 
too!  Brave,  Sir  Knights!  That's  what  you  all 
shall  be, — Knights  come  to  woo  the  Princess !  ' ! 

Honest,  for  awhile  there,  as  this  bughouse 
monologue  was  bein'  put  over,  I  figured  I've 
made  a  mistake  in  the  floor,  and  had  been  let 
into  a  private  ward.  But  as  soon  as  I  gets  next 
to  the  Georgia  accent  I  suspects  that  it  ain't 
any  case  of  squirrels  in  the  attic;  but  just  a 
sample  of  sweet  Southern  gush. 

Next  I  gets  a  peek  through  the  draperies  at 
some  straw-colored  hair  with  a  shell-pink  ear 
peepin'  from  underneath,  and  I  know  that  what 
ever  else  is  wrong  don't  matter;  for  over  there 
on  the  windowseat,  surrounded  by  half  a  dozen 
young  gents,  is  somebody  very  partic'lar  and 
special.  Followin'  this  I  does  a  hasty  piece  of 
scout  work  and  draws  a  deep  breath.  No 
Aunty  looms  on  the  horizon — not  yet,  anyway. 

With  the  arrival  of  the  new  delegates  the  ad- 
mirin'  semicircle  has  to  break  up,  and  the  three 
of  us  are  towed  to  the  bay  window  by  Vivacious 
Vivian. 

"  Princess,"  says  she,  makin'  a  low  duck, 
"  three  other  Knights  who  would  do  homage. 


8  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

Allow  me  first  to  present  Mr.  Reginald  St.  Claire 
Smith.  Here  Reggy.  Also  Mr.  Theodore  Bra- 
den.  And  next  Mr. — Mr. — er " 

She's  got  to  me.  I  expect  her  first  guess  was 
that  I'd  been  dragged  in  by  one  of  the  other 
two ;  but  as  neither  of  'em  makes  any  sign  she 
turns  them  black,  dark-ringed  lamps  inquirin' 
on  me  and  asks,  "  Oh,  I'm  sure  I  beg  pardon, 
but — but  you  are " 

Now  who  the  blazes  was  I,  anyway?  It  all 
depended  on  how  well  posted  she  was,  whether 

I  should  admit  I  was  Torchy  the  Banished,  or 
invent  an  alias  on  the  spot. 

"  Why,"  says  I,  draggin'  it  out  to  gain  time, 
"  you  see  I'm  a — that  is,  I'm  a — a ' 

"  Oh,  hello!  "  breaks  in  Vee,  jumpin'  up  and 
holdin'  out  both  hands  just  in  the  nick  of  time. 

II  Why,  of  course,  Cousin  Eulalia!     This  is  a 
friend  of  mine,  an  old  friend." 

11  Really!  "  says  Cousin  Eulalia.  "  And  I 
may  call  him " 

"  Claude,"  I  puts  in,  winkin'  at  Vee.  "  Call 
me  just  Claude. ' ' 

"  Perfectly  lovely!  "  gushes  Eulalia.  "  An 
unknown  knight.  'Deed  and  you  shall  be  called 
Claude — Sir  Claude  of  the  Golden  Crest.  Gen 
tlemen,  I  present  him  to  you." 

We  looks  at  each  other  sort  of  sheepish,  and 
most  of  us  grins.  All  but  one,  in  fact.  The 
blond  string  bean  over  in  the  corner,  with  the' 


CHANCING  IT  FOR  VEE  9 

buttermilk  blue  eyes  and  the  white  eyebrows, 
he  don't  seem  amused.  For  it's  Sappy  West- 
lake,  the  one  I  run  on  a  siding  once  at  a  dance. 
Think  of  keepin'  a  peeve  on  ice  all  that  time! 

It's  quite  a  likely  lookin'  assortment  on  the 
whole,  though,  all  costumed  elegant  and  showin' 
signs  of  bein'  fairly  well  parlor  broke. 

"  What's  the  occasion?  "  says  I  on  the  side 
to  Miss  Vee.  "  Eeunion  of  somebody's  Sunday 
school  class?  " 

She  gives  me  a  punch  and  smothers  a  snicker. 
"  Don't  let  Cousin  Eulalia  hear  you  say  such  a 
thing,"  says  she. 

We  only  had  a  minute;  but  from  what  she 
manages  to  whisper  durin'  the  general  chatter 
I  makes  out  that  this  is  a  little  scheme  Eulalia 'd 
planned  to  sort  of  launch  Vee  into  the  younger 
set.  She's  from  Atlanta,  Cousin  Eulalia  is,  one 
of  the  best  f  am 'lies,  and  kind  of  a  perennial  so 
ciety  belle  that's  tinkled  through  quite  some  sea 
sons,  but  refuses  to  quit.  Just  now  she's  spend- 
in'  a  month  with  Fifth-ave.  friends,  and  has 
just  discovered  that  Vee  and  her  are  close  con 
nected  through  a  step-uncle  marryin'  a  half- 
sister  of  Eulalia 's  brother-in-law,  or  something 
like  that.  Anyhow,  she  insists  on  the  cousin 
racket,  and  has  started  right  in  to  rush  Vee  to 
the  front. 

She's  some  rusher,  Eulalia  is,  too.  No 
twenty-minutes-to-or-after  silences  while  she's 


10  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

conductin'  affairs.  Course,  it's  kind  of  froth/ 
stuff  to  pass  for  conversation;  but  it  bubbles 
out  constant,  and  she  blows  it  around  impartial. 
Her  idea  of  giving  Cousin  Vee  a  perfectly  good 
time  seems  to  be  to  have  us  all  grouped  around 
that  windowseat  and  take  turns  shootin'  over 
puffs  of  hot  air;  sort  of  a  taffy-throwin'  com 
petition,  you  know,  with  Vee  as  the  mark. 

But  Vee  don't  seem  tickled  to  death  over  it. 
She  ain't  fussed  exactly,  as  Eulalia  rounds  us 
up  in  a  half -circle ;  but  she  colors  up  a  little  and 
acts  kind  of  bored.  She's  some  picture,  though. 
M-m-m-m!  And  it  was  worth  while  bein'  one 
of  a  mob,  just  to  stand  there  watchin'  her. 

I  expect  the  young  college  hicks  felt  a  good 
deal  the  same  about  it  as  me,  even  if  they  was 
havin'  hard  work  diggin'  up  appropriate  re 
marks  when  Eulalia  swings  the  arrow  so  it 
points  to  them.  Anyway,  they  does  their  best 
to  come  up  with  the  polite  jolly,  and  nobody 
makes  a  break  to  quit. 

It's  durin'  the  tea  and  sandwich  scramble, 
though,  that  Cousin  Eulalia  gets  her  happy 
hunch.  Seems  that  Sappy  "Westlake  has  come 
forward  with  an  invite  to  a  box  party  just  as 
Vee  is  tryin'  to  make  up  her  mind  whether  she'll 
go  with  Teddy  Braden  to  some  cotillion  capers, 
or  accept  a  dinner  dance  bid  from  one  of  the 
other  young  gents. 

"  And  all  for  Wednesday  night!  "  says  she. 


CHANCING  IT  FOR  VEE  11 

"  How  stupid  of  you,  with  the  week  so 
long!  " 

"  But  I'd  planned  this  box  party  especially 
for  you,"  protests  Sappy. 

"  Oh,  give  someone  else  a  chance,  Westlake," 
cuts  in  Reggy.  "  That's  the  night  of  our  frat 
dance,  and  I  want  to  ask  Miss  Vee  if " 

"  What's  this  all  about?  "  demands  Eulalia, 
dancin'  kittenish  into  the  limelight.  "  Rivalry 
among  our  gallant  knights?  Then  the  Princess 
Charming  must  decide." 

"  Oh,  don't,  Cousin  Eulalia,"  says  Vee, 
wrinklin'  her  nose  the  least  bit.  "  Please!  " 

"  Don't  what!  "  says  Eulalia,  raisin'  her 
long  arms  flutterin'.  "  My  dear,  I  don't  under 
stand." 

"  Ah,  she's  hintin'  for  you  to  ditch  the 
Princess  stuff,"  I  puts  in.  "  Ain't  that  it?  " 
and  Vee  nods  emphatic. 

Eulalia  lets  on  that  she  don't  know.  "  Ditch 
the — why,  what  can  he  mean  by  that?  "  says 
she.  "  And  you  are  a  Princess  Charming;  isn't 
she,  boys?  " 

Course  the  bunch  admits  that  she  is. 

"  There,  you  see?  "  goes  on  Eulalia.  "  Your 
faithful  knights  acclaim  you.  Who  says  that 
the  age  of  chivalry  has  passed?  Why,  here 
they  are,  everyone  of  them  ready  to  do  your 
lightest  bidding.  Now,  aren't  you,  Sir 
Knights?  " 


12  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

It's  kind  of  a  weak  chorus;  but  the  ayes 
seem  to  have  it.  What  other  answer  could 
there  be,  with  Vee  gazin'  flushed  and  pouty  at 
'em  over  the  tea  urn? 

"  Really,  Eulalia,  I  wish  you  wouldn't  be  so 
absurd,"  says  Vee. 

"  My  dear  Cousin  Verona,"  coos  Eulalia, 
glidin'  up  and  huggin'  her  impetuous,  "  how 
could  anyone  keep  their  heads  straight  before 
such  absolutely  distracting  beauty?  See,  you 
have  inspired  them  all  with  the  spirit  of  chiv 
alry.  And  now  you  must  put  them  to  the  test. 
Name  some  heroic  deed  for  each  to  perform. 
Begin  with  Reggy.  Now  what  shall  it  be!  " 

"  Fudge!  "  says  Vee,  tossin'  her  head.  "  I'll 
do  nothing  so  perfectly  mushy." 

But  Cousin  Eulalia  wa'n't  to  be  squelched, 
nor  have  her  grand  scheme  sidetracked.  '  *  Then 
I  declare  myself  Mistress  of  the  Lists,"  says 
she,  "  and  I  shall  open  the  tournament  for 
you.  Ho,  Trumpeter,  summon  the  challengers ! 
And — oh,  I  have  it.  Each  of  you  Sir  Knights 
must  choose  his  own  task,  whatever  he  deems 
will  best  please  our  Princess  Charming.  What 
say  you  to  that?  " 

There's  a  murmur  of  "  Good  business!  " 
"  Bully  dope!  "  and  the  young  gents  begin  to 
prick  up  their  ears. 

11  Then  this  is  how  it  stands,"  goes  on  Eu 
lalia,  beamin'  delighted.  "  Between  now  and 


CHANCING  IT  FOR  VEE  13 

eight  o'clock  this  evening  each  knight  must  do 
his  valorous  best  to  win  the  approval  of  our 
Princess.  Hers  it  shall  be  to  decide,  the  prize 
her  gracious  company  for  next  Wednesday 
night.  Come  now,  who  enters  the  lists!  " 

There's  some  snickerin'  and  hangin'  back; 
but  fin'ly  they're  all  in. 

"  All  save  the  Unknown  Knight,"  pipes  up 
Eulalia,  spottin'  me  in  the  rear.  "  How  now, 
you  of  the  Crimson  Crest?  Not  showing  the 
white  feather,  are  you?  " 

"  Me!  "  says  I.  "  Well,  I  don't  quite  get  the 
drift  of  the  game;  but  if  it'll  make  you  feel  any 
better,  you  can  count  me  in." 

"  Good!  '  says  she,  clappin'  her  hands. 
"  And  while  you  are  afield  I  must  leave  too— 
another  tea,  you  know.  But  we  all  meet  here 
again  at  eight  sharp,  with  proof  or  plunder. 
Teddy,  have  you  decided  what  to  attempt?  ' 

"  Sure,"  says  he.  "  Me  to  find  the  biggest 
box  of  candy  that  can  be  bought  in  New  York 
Sunday  evening." 

"Oh,  splendid!"  gurgles  Eulalia.  "And 
you,  Mr.  Westlake?  " 

"  Orchids,"  says  Sappy.  "  Grandmother  has 
dandy  ones  at  her  place  up  in  Westchester,  and 
I  can  make  there  and  back  in  my  roadster  if 
I'm  not  pinched  for  speeding.  I'm  going  to 
have  a  try,  and  maybe  I'll  have  to  steal  the 
flowers  too." 


14  ON  WITH  TOUCHY 

"  There!  "  says  Eulalia,  pattin'  him  on  the 
back.  "  That's  a  knightly  spirit.  But  what  of 
Crimson  Crest?  What  will  you  do!  " 

"  The  game  is  to  spring  something  on  Miss 
Vee  better 'n  what  the  others  put  over,  is  it?  ' 
says  I. 

11  Precisely,"  says  Eulalia,  allowin'  two  of 
the  young  gents  to  help  her  on  with  her  wraps. 
"  Have  you  thought  what  your  offering  is  to 


' '  Not  yet, ' '  says  I.  "I  may  take  a  chance  on 
something  fresh.'7 

They  was  all  pilin'  out  eager  by  that  time, 
each  one  anxious  to  get  started  on  his  own 
special  fool  stunt;  so,  while  I  was  mixed  up  in 
the  gen'ral  push,  with  my  hat  in  my  hand  and 
my  coat  over  my  arm,  it  didn't  strike  me  how 
I  could  bolt  the  programme  until  I'm  half 
crowded  behind  the  open  hall  door.  Then  I  gets 
a  swift  thought.  Seein'  I  wouldn't  be  missed, 
and  that  Vee  has  her  back  to  me,  I  simply 
squeezes  in  out  of  sight  and  waits  while  she  says 
by-by  to  the  last  one;  so,  when  she  fin'ly  shuts 
the  door,  there  I  am. 

* '  Why,  Torchy  1  ' '  says  she.  ' l  I  thought  you 
had  gone." 

"  But  it  wa'n't  a  wish,  was  it?  "  says  I. 

"  Humph!  "  says  she,  flashin'  a  tea  sin' 
glance.  "  Suppose  I  don't  tell  that?  " 

"  My  nerve  is  strong  today,"  says  I,  chuckin' 


CHANCING  IT  FOE  VEE  15 

my  hat  back  on  the  rack;  "  so  I'll  take  the  bene 
fit  of  the  doubt. " 

*  *  But  all  the  others  have  gone  to — to  do  things 
that  will  please  me,"  she  adds. 

"  That's  why  I'm  takin'  a  chance,"  says  I, 
"  that  if  I  stick  around  I  might — well,  I'm  shy 
of  grandmothers  to  steal  orchids  from,  any 
way.  ' ' 

Vee  chuckles  at  that.  "  Isn't  Cousin  Eu- 
lalia  too  absurd!  "  says  she.  "  And  since 
you're  still  here — why — well,  let's  not  stand  in 
the  hall.  Come  in." 

"  One  minute,"  says  I.    "  Where's  Aunty?  " 

"  Out,"  says  she. 

"  What  a  pity!  "  says  I,  takin'  Vee  by  the 
arm.  "  Tell  her  how  much  I  missed  her." 

"  But  how  did  you  happen  to  come  up  to 
day?  "  asks  Vee. 

"  There  wa'n't  any  happenin'  to  it,"  says  I. 
"  I'd  got  to  my  limit,  that's  all.  Honest,  Vee, 
I  just  had  to  come.  I'd  have  come  if  there 'd 
been  forty  Aunties,  each  armed  with  a  spiked 
club.  It's  been  months,  you  know,  since  I've 
had  a  look  at  you." 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  says  she,  gazin'  at  the  rug. 
"  You — you've  grown,  haven't  you?  ' 

"  Think  so!  "  says  I.  "  Maybe  it's  the  cut 
away  coat." 

"  No,"  says  she;  "  although  that  helps.  But 
as  we  walked  in  I  thought  you  seemed  taller 


16  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

than  I.  Let's  measure,  here  by  the  pier  glass. 
Now,  back  to  back.  Well,  if  I  ever  !  Look  where 
your  shoulders  come!  ): 

"  No  more  than  an  inch  or  so,"  says  I,  gazin' 
sideways  at  the  mirror  ;  and  then  I  lets  slip,  half 
under  my  breath,  a  sort  of  gaspy  "  Gee!  ': 

"  Why  the  '  Gee  '?  "  says  she,  glancin'  over 
her  shoulder  into  the  glass. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  says  I;  "  only  I  don't 
mind  bein'  grouped  like  this,  not  a  bit." 

"  Pooh!  "  says  she,  but  still  holdin'  the  pose. 

"  Seems  to  me,"  says  I,  "  that  Cousin  Eu- 
lalia  is  a  slick  describer.  That  Princess  Charm 
ing  business  ain't  so  wide." 

"  Silly!  "  says  she.    "  Come  and  sit  down." 

She  was  steerin'  for  the  windowseat;  but  I 
picks  out  a  cozy  little  high-backed  davenport 
and,  reachin'  for  one  of  her  hands,  swings  her 
into  that.  "  Just  room  for  two  here,"  says  I. 

"  But  you  needn't  keep  my  hand,"  says  she. 

"  No  trouble,"  says  I.  "  Besides,  I  thought 
I'd  inspect  what  kind  of  a  manicure  you  take 
of.  M-m-m-m!  Pretty  fair,  no  hangnails,  all 
the  half-moons  showin'  proper,  an  -  I 
broke  off  sudden  at  that  and  sat  starin'  blank. 

"  Well,  anything  else?  "  says  she. 

"  I  —  I  guess  not,"  says  I,  lettin'  her  hand 
slip.  "  You've  chucked  it,  eh?  " 

"  Chucked  what?  "  says  she. 
Nothing  much,"  says  I.    "  But  for  awhile 


" 


CHANCING  IT  FOE  VEE  17 

there,  you  know,  just  for  fun  you  was  wearin' 
something  of  mine." 

"Oh!"  she  flashes  back.  "  Then  at  last 
you've  missed  it,  have  you?  " 

"  With  so  much  else  worth  lookin'  at,"  says 
I,  "  is  it  a  wonder?  " 

11  Blarney!  "  says  she,  stickin'  out  her 
tongue. 

"  Did  Aunty  capture  it?  "  says  I. 

Vee  shakes  her  head. 

"  Maybe  you  lost  it?  "I  goes  on.  "  It  wa'n't 
much. ' ' 

"  Then  you  wouldn't  care  if  I  had?  "  says 
she. 

"  I  wanted  you  to  keep  it,"  says  I;  "  but 
of  course,  after  all  the  row  Aunty  raised  over 
it,  I  knew  you  couldn't." 

"  Couldn't  I,  though?  "  says  she,  and  with 
that  she  fishes  up  the  end  of  a  little  gold  neck 
chain  from  under  some  lace — and  hanged  if 
there  ain't  the  ring! 

"  Vee!  "  says  I,  sort  of  tingly  all  over  as  I 
gazes  at  her.  "  Say,  you're  a  corker,  though! 
Why,  I  thought  sure  you'd " 

"  Silly  boy!  "  says  she.  "  I'll  just  have  to 
pay  you  for  that.  You  will  think  horrid  things 
of  me,  will  you?  There!  " 

She  does  things  in  a  flash  when  she  cuts  loose 
too.  Next  I  knew  she  has  her  fingers  in  what 
Eulalia  calls  my  crimson  crest  and  is  rumplin' 


18  ON  WITH  TOKCHY 

up  all  them  curls  I'd  been  so  careful  to  slick 
back.  I  grabbed  her  wrists,  and  it  was  more  or 
less  of  a  rough-house  scene  we  was  indulgin' 
in,  when  all  of  a  sudden  the  draperies  are 
brushed  back,  and  in  stalks  Aunty,  with  Cousin 
Eulalia  trailin'  behind. 

"Ver-ona!"  Talk  about  havin'  a  pitcher 
of  cracked  ice  slipped  down  your  back!  Say, 
there  was  more  chills  in  that  one  word  than  ever 
blew  down  from  Medicine  Hat.  "  What,"  goes 
on  Aunty,  "  does  this  mean?  " 

"  It — it's  a  new  game,"  says  I,  grinnin' 
foolish. 

"  As  old  as  Satan,  I  should  say!  "  raps  out 
Aunty. 

"  Why,"  squeals  Cousin  Eulalia  gushy, 
' '  here  is  our  Unknown  Knight,  the  first  to  come 
back  with  his  tribute!  Let's  see,  what  was  it 
you  said  you  were  going  to  do?  Oh,  I  know — 
take  a  chance  on  something  fresh,  wasn't  it? 
Well?  " 

"  Ye-e-es,"  says  I.    "  And  I  guess  I  did." 

1 '  Trust  him  for  that !  ' '  snorts  Aunty. 
"  Young  man,  at  our  last  interview  I  thought  I 
made  it  quite  clear  that  I  should  not  expect  you 
to  return?  " 

"  That's  right,"  says  I,  edgin'  around  her 
towards  the  door.  "  And  you  wa'n't,  was 
you?  " 

Some  glance  she  shot  over ;  but  it  didn't  prove 


CHANCING  IT  FOB  VEE  19 

fatal.  And  as  I  rides  down  I  couldn't  help 
swappin'  a  wink  with  the  elevator  boy. 

"  Feelin'  frisky,  eh?  "  says  he.  "  So  was 
them  other  young  guys.  One  of  'em  tipped  me 
a  half." 

"  That  kind  would,"  says  I.  "  They're  corn- 
in'  back.  I'm  escapin'." 

But,  say,  who  do  you  guess  wins  out  for 
Wednesday  night?  Ah,  rattle  'em  again!  Eu- 
lalia  fixed  it  up.  Said  it  was  Vee's  decision, 
and  she  was  bound  to  stick  by  the  rules  of  the 
game,  even  if  they  did  have  to  throw  a  bluff  to 
Aunty.  Uh-huh!  I've  got  three  orchestra  seats 
right  in  my  pocket,  and  a  table  engaged  for  sup 
per  afterwards.  Oh,  I  don't  know.  Eulalia 
ain't  so  batty,  after  all. 


CHAPTER  n 

PULLING  A  SLEUTH  STUNT 

TKUST  Piddle  for  workin'  up  wild  suspicions. 
Say,  he  can't  find  a  stray  sheet  of  scribblin' 
paper  on  the  floor  without  pouncin'  sleuthy  on 
it  and  tryin'  to  puzzle  out  the  hidden  meanin'. 

So  when  I  get  the  buzzer  call  to  Old  Hickory's 
private  office  and  finds  him  and  the  main  stem 
waitin'  in  solemn  conclave  there,  I  guesses  right 
off  that  Piddie  's  dug  up  a  new  one  that  he  hopes 
to  nail  me  with.  Just  now  he's  holdin'  a  little 
bunch  of  wilted  field  flowers  in  one  hand,  and 
as  I  range  up  by  the  desk  he  shoots  over  the 
accusin'  glance. 

"  Boy,"  says  he,  "  do  you  know  anything 
about  these?  " 

"  Why,  sure,"  says  I.  "  They're  pickled 
pigs'  feet,  ain't  they?  " 

'  *  No  impudence,  now !  ' '  says  he.  '  l  Where 
did  they  come  from?  ' 

11  Off'm  Grant's  Tomb,  if  I  must  guess,"  says 
I.  "  Anyway,  I  wouldn't  think  they  was  picked 
in  the  Subway. ' ' 

And  at  this  Old  Hickory  sniffs  impatient. 
20 


PULLING  A  SLEUTH  STUNT         21 

"  That  is  quite  enough  comic  diversion,  young 
man !  "  he  puts  in.  *  *  Do  you  or  don 't  you  know 
anything  about  how  those  things  happened  to 
get  on  my  desk?  " 

"  Me?  "  says  I.  "  Why,  I  never  saw  'em 
before !  What 's  the  dope  ?  ' ' 

"  Huh!  "  he  grunts.  "  I  didn't  think  this 
was  any  of  your  nonsense:  too  tame.  And  I 
suppose  you  might  as  well  know  what's  afoot. 
Tell  him,  Mr.  Piddie." 

Did  you  ever  see  a  pinhead  but  what  just 
dotes  on  springin'  a  sensation?  Piddie  fairly 
gloats  over  unloadin 'it.  "  This, ' '  says  he, hold- 
in  '  up  the  wilted  bunch,  ' l  is  the  unaccountable. 
For  the  fourth  time  flowers  of  this  description 
have  been  mysteriously  left  on  Mr.  Ellins'  desk. 
It  is  not  done  after  hours,  or  during  the  night; 
but  in  broad  day,  sometimes  when  Mr.  Ellins  is 
sitting  just  where  he  is  now,  and  by  a  hand  un 
seen.  Watch  has  been  kept,  yet  no  one  has  been 
detected ;  and,  as  you  know,  only  a  few  persons 
have  free  access  here.  Still  the  thing  continues. 
At  regular  periods  these  absurd  bouquets  ap 
pear  on  this  desk,  seemingly  from  nowhere  at 
all.  Hence  this  inquiry." 

I'd  heard  Piddie  spout  a  good  many  times  be 
fore,  but  never  quite  so  eloquent,  and  I  expect 
I  was  gawpin'  at  him  some  dazed  and  ad- 
mirin'. 

"  Well,"  says  Old  Hickory,  squintin'  sharp 


22  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

at  me  from  under  his  bushy  eyebrows,  "  what 
have  you  to  offer?  " 

11  It's  by  me,"  says  I,  shruggin'  my  shoul 
ders. 

"  Oh,  come  now!  "  he  goes  on.  "  "With  that 
high  tension  brain  of  yours,  surely  you  can  ad 
vance  some  idea." 

"  Why,"  says  I,  "  offhand  I  should  say  that 
some  of  them  mushy  lady  typists  out  there  might 
be  smugglin'  in  floral  tributes  to  you,  Sir." 

Old  Hickory  grins  sarcastic.  "  Without  go 
ing  into  the  question  of  motive,"  says  he,  "  that 
suggestion  may  be  worth  considering.  What 
say,  Mr.  Piddie?  " 

"  It  might  be  that  Miss  Smicks,"  says  Piddie. 
"  She's  quite  sentimental,  Sir,  and  I've  thought 
at  times  she " 

"  Stop!  "  roars  Old  Hickory,  almost  workin' 
up  a  blush.  "  Mr.  Piddie,  I  am  a  fat,  cross- 
grained  old  man,  about  as  attractive  personally 
as  a  hippopotamus.  Great  stuttering  tadpoles ! 
Can't  you  think  of  anything  but  'Sappy  ro 
mance?  More  likely  someone  wants  a  raise." 

"  Very  true,  Sir;  I  hadn't  thought  of  that," 
chimes  in  Piddie.  "  Shall  we  call  them  all  in, 
one  at  a  time,  Sir,  and " 

"  And  what?  "  snaps  Old  Hickory.  "  Think 
Pm  going  to  ask  all  those  young  women  if 
they've  been  leaving  flowers  on  my  desk?  ' 

"  Couldn't  you  fake  up  some  job  for  each 


PULLING  A  SLEUTH  STUNT         23 

one, ' '  says  I,  * '  and  when  they  came  in  be  wear- 
in'  the  flowers  conspicuous,  and  watch  if 
they " 

"  Bah!  "  breaks  in  Old  Hickory.  "  What 
driveling  tommyrot!  Besides,  I  don't  believe 
any  of  them  had  a  hand  in  this.  How  could 
they?  Why,  I  tell  you,  there  wasn't  a  soul  in 
this  room  between  noon  and  twelve  forty-five  to 
day;  and  yet,  with  me  facing  that  door,  these 
things  appear  right  at  my  elbow.  It — it's  get 
ting  on  my  nerves,  and,  by  the  seven  sizzling 
sisters,  I  want  to  know  what  it  all  means !  ' ' 

"  We  could  have  in  the  detectives,"  sug 
gests  Piddie. 

"  If  it  was  a  bomb  or  an  infernal  machine,  I 
might,"  says  Mr.  Ellins  scornful;  "  but  to  trace 
a  few  dad-blistered  flowers — no,  thank  you! 
It's  foolish  enough  as  it  stands." 

"  But  there  is  something  behind  all  this,  I'm 
sure,"  insists  Piddie,  "  and  if  you  will  allow  me 
to  do  it,  I  shall  send  at  once  for  Dr.  Rudolph 
Bingstetter. ' ' 

"  Who's  he?  "  demands  Old  Hickory. 

11  A  distinguished  scientist  who  is  a  friend 
and  neighbor  of  mine,"  says  Piddie,  swellin'  up 
important.  "  He  was  formerly  a  dentist,  I  be 
lieve;  but  now  he  devotes  himself  to  research 
and  literature.  He  writes  magazine  articles  on 
psychological  phenomena,  crime  mysteries,  and 
so  on.  Dr.  Bingstetter  has  a  wonderful  mind, 


24  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

and  is  often  called  on  to  unravel  baffling  cases. 
It  was  only  a  few  months  ago  that  he  sucess- 
fully  investigated  a  haunted  house  out  our  way 
and  found— 

"  But  I'm  not  accusing  ghosts  of  this,"  says 
Old  Hickory. 

"  Of  course  not,  Sir,"  says  Piddie;  "  but  I'm 
sure  Dr.  Bingstetter  could  find  out  just  how 
those  flowers  come  here.  He's  an  extremely 
brilliant  man,  Sir,  and  I'm  quite  positive  he 
could— 

"  Well,  well,  send  for  him,  then,"  says  Old 
Hickory.  ll  Only  see  that  you  keep  still  about 
it  outside  there,  both  of  you.  I  don't  care  to 
have  the  whole  office  force  chattering  and  snick 
ering  over  this  affair.  Understand?  " 

You  bet  we  did;  for  when  the  boss  gets  real 
peevish  about  anything  it's  not  safe  to  get  your 
signals  mixed!  I  stands  guard  on  the  'phone 
booth  while  Piddie  was  sendin'  the  message,  and 
for  once  we  plots  away  together  real  chummy. 

"  He's  coming  right  over  this  afternoon," 
whispers  Piddie,  as  he  slides  out  of  the  booth. 
"  You're  to  take  him  directly  into  Mr.  Ellins' 
office, — a  large,  impressive  looking  man,  you 
know,  with  a  full  round  face  and  wearing  eye 
glasses." 

Piddie  forgets  to  mention  the  shiny  frock  coat 
and  the  forty-four-inch  waist  line;  but  for  all 
that  I  spots  him  the  minute  he  hits  the  brass 


PULLING  A  SLEUTH  STUNT        25 

gate,  which  he  does  about  ten  minutes  before 
closin'  time. 

"  Dr.  Bingstetter?  "  says  I  cautious. 

"  I  am  he,"  is  the  answer. 

"  S-s-s-s-sh!  "  says  I,  puttin'  a  forefinger  to 
my  lips  warnin'. 

"  S-s-s-s-sh!  "  echoes  the  Doc,  tiptoein' 
through  the  gate. 

Then  up  comes  Piddie,  walkin'  on  his  toes  too, 
and  the  three  of  us  does  a  footpad  sneak  into 
Old  Hickory 's  office.  There  wa  'n  't  any  wild  call 
for  me  to  stay  as  I  knows  of;  but  as  long  as  no 
one  threw  me  out  I  thought  I'd  stick  around. 

I  must  say  too  the  Doc  looked  and  acted  the 
part.  First  off  he  sits  there  blinkin'  wise  be 
hind  his  glasses,  and  not  a  sign  on  his  big,  heavy 
face  as  he  listens  to  all  Piddie  and  Mr.  Ellins 
can  tell  him  about  the  case.  Also  when  he  starts 
askin'  questions  on  his  own  hook  he  makes  a 
noise  like  a  mighty  intellect  changin'  gears. 

"  M-m-m-m!  "  says  he,  pursin'  up  his  lips 
and  studyin'  the  bouquet  thoughtful.  "  Six  ox- 
eyed  daisies,  four  sprays  of  goldenrod,  and  three 
marshmallow  blooms, — thirteen  in  all.  And  this 
is  the  fourth  bunch.  Now,  the  others,  Mr. 
Ellins,  they  were  not  precisely  like  this  one, 
were  they?  " 

''Blessed  if  I  know!"  says  Old  Hickory, 
"  No,  come  to  think  of  it,  they  were  all  dif 
ferent.  ' ' 


26  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

' '  Ah,  I  thought  so !  "  says  the  Doc,  sort  of 
suckin'  in  his  breath  satisfied.  "  Now,  just 
what  flowers  did  the  first  one  contain,  I  should 
like  to  know." 

1 1  Why,  hang  it  all,  man,  I  can 't  remember !  ' 
says  Old  Hickory.    * '  I  threw  the  things  into  the 
waste  basket." 

"  Ah,  that  was  careless,  very  careless,"  says 
the  Doc.  "  It  would  have  helped.  One  ought 
to  cultivate,  Mr.  Ellins,  the  habit  of  accurately 
observing  small  details.  However,  we  shall  see 
•what  can  be  done  with  this,"  and  once  more 
he  puckers  his  lips,  furrows  up  his  noble  brow, 
and  gazes  steady  at  floral  exhibit  No.  4,  turnin' 
it  round  slow  between  his  fat  fingers  and  almost 
goin'  into  a  trance  over  it. 

"  Hadn't  you  better  take  a  look  around  the 
offices,"  suggests  Old  Hickory,  "  examine  the 
doors,  and  so  on?  " 

"  No,  no !  "  says  Bingstetter,  wavin'  away  the 
interuption.  "  No  bypaths.  The  trained  mind 
rejects  everything  contributory,  subordinate. 
It  refuses  to  be  led  off  into  a  maze  of  unsup 
ported  conjecture.  It  seeks  only  the  vital, 
primogenitive  fact,  the  hidden  truth  at  the  heart 
of  things.  And  that  is  all  here — here!  " 

Piddie  leans  forward  for  another  look  at  the 
flowers,  and  wags  his  head  solemn,  I  edges 
around  for  a  closer  view  myself,  and  Old  Hick 
ory  stares  puzzled. 


PULLING  A  SLEUTH  STUNT         27 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say,"  says  he,  "  that 
just  by  gazing  at  a  few  flowers  you  can " 

"  S-s-s-sh!  "  breaks  in  the  Doc,  holdin'  up  a 
warnin'  hand.  "It  is  coming.  I  am  working 
outward  from  the  primal  fact  toward  the  ob 
jective.  It  is  evolving,  taking  on  definite  pro 
portions,  assuming  shape." 

"  Well,  what's  the  result!  "  demands  the 
boss,  hitchin'  restless  in  his  chair. 

"  Patience,  my  dear  Sir,  patience,"  says  the 
Doesoothin'.  "  The  introdeductive  method  can 
not  be  hurried.  It  is  an  exact  process,  requiring 
utmost  concentration,  until  in  the  fullness  of  the 
moment Ah,  I  have  it!  " 

11  Eh?  "  says  Old  Hickory. 

11  One  moment,"  says  the  Doc.  "  A  trifling 
detail  is  still  missing, — the  day  of  the  week.  To 
day  is  Wednesday,  is  it  not?  Now,  on  what  day 
of  last  week  did  you  receive  a — er — similar 
token?  " 

Old  Hickory  finally  reckons  up  that  it  must 
have  been  last  Wednesday. 

"  And  the  week  before?  "  goes  on  the  Doc. 
' '  The  bunch  of  flowers  appeared  then  on  Wed 
nesday,  did  it  not?  " 

Yes,  he  was  pretty  sure  it  did. 

"  Ah!  "  says  Bingstetter,  settlin'  back  in  his 
chair  like  it  was  all  over,  "  then  the  cumulative 
character  is  established.  And  such  exact  recur 
rence  cannot  be  due  to  chance.  No,  it  has  all 


28  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

been  nicely  calculated,  carried  out  with  relent 
less  precision.  Four  Wednesdays,  four  floral 
threats!  " 

"  Threats?  "  says  Mr.  Ellins,  sittin'  up 
prompt. 

"  You  failed  to  read  them,"  says  the  Doc. 
"  That  is  what  comes  of  neglecting  minor  de 
tails.  But  fortunately  I  came  in  time  to  decipher 
this  one.  Observe  the  fateful  number, — thirteen. 
Note  the  colors  here, — brown,  golden,  pink.  The 
pink  of  the  mallow  means  youth,  the  goldenrod 
stands  for  hoarded  wealth,  the  brown  for  age. 
And  all  are  bound  together  by  wire  grass,  which 
is  the  tightening  snare.  A  menacing  missive! 
There  will  come  another  on  Wednesday  next." 

"  Think  so?  "  says  Old  Hickory. 

11  I  am  positive,"  says  the  Doc.  "  One  more. 
We  will  allude  to  it  for  the  present,  if  you 
choose,  as  the  fifth  bouquet.  And  this  fifth 
token  will  be  red,  blood  red!  Mr.  Ellins,  you 
are  a  marked  man!  r 

"  The  blazes  you  say!  "  snorts  Old  Hickory. 
"  Well,  it  won't  be  the  first  time.  Who's  after 
me  now,  though!  " 

"  Five  desperate  men,"  says  the  Doc,  countin' 
'em  off  on  his  fingers.  "  Four  have  given  evi 
dence  of  their  subtle  daring.  The  fifth  is  yet  to 
appear.  He  will  come  on  Wednesday  next,  and 
then — he  will  find  that  his  coming  has  been 
anticipated.  I  shall  be  here  in  person.  Now, 


PULLING  A  SLEUTH  STUNT        29 

let  me  see — there  is  a  room  connecting  with 
this  ?  Ah,  very  well.  Have  three  policemen  in 
readiness  there.  I  think  it  can  be  arranged  so 
that  our  man  will  walk  in  among  them  of  his 
own  accord.  That  is  all.  Give  yourself  no  un 
easiness,  Mr.  Ellins.  For  a  week  you  will  be 
undisturbed.  Until  then,  Sir,  au  revoir." 

With  that  he  bows  dignified  and  motions  Pid- 
die  to  lead  the  way  out.  I  slides  out  too,  leavin' 
Old  Hickory  sittin'  there  starin'  sort  of  puzzled 
and  worried  at  the  wall.  And,  honest,  whether 
you  took  any  stock  in  the  Doc's  yellow  forecast 
or  not,  it  listens  kind  of  creepy.  Course,  with 
him  usin'  all  that  highbrow  language,  I  couldn't 
exactly  follow  how  he  gets  to  it;  but  there's  no 
denyin'  that  it  sounds  mighty  convincin'. 

And  yet — well,  I  can't  say  just  what  there 
was  about  Bingstetter  that  got  me  leery;  but 
somehow  he  reminds  me  of  a  street  faker  or  a 
museum  lecturer.  And  it  does  seem  sort  of 
fishy  that,  just  by  gazin'  at  a  bunch  of  flowers, 
he  could  dope  out  all  this  wild  tale  about  five 
desp'rate  men.  Still,  there  was  no  gettin'  away 
from  the  fact  that  he  had  hit  it  right  about  the 
bouquets  appearin'  reg'lar  every  Wednesday. 
That  must  mean  something.  But  why  Wednes 
days?  Now,  what  was  there  that  happens  on 
Wednesday  that  don't 

Say,  you  know  how  you'll  get  a  fool  hunch 
sometimes,  that'll  seem  such  a  nutty  proposi- 


30  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

tion  first  off  that  you'll  almost  laugh  at  your 
self  for  havin'  it ;  and  yet  how  it'll  rattle  around 
in  your  bean  persistent,  until  you  quit  tryin'  to 
get  rid  of  it?  Well,  this  one  of  mine  strikes 
me  about  as  I'm  snugglin'  down  into  the  hay 
that  night,  and  there  was  no  gettin'  away  from 
it  for  hours. 

I  expect  I  did  tear  off  a  few  chunks  of  slumber 
between  times;  but  I  was  wide  awake  long  be 
fore  my  reg'lar  hour  for  rollin'  out,  and  after 
makin'  three  or  four  stabs  at  a  second  nap  I 
gives  it  up,  slips  down  for  an  early  breakfast,  and 
before  eight  A.M.  I'm  down  in  the  basement  of 
the  Corrugated  Buildin'  interviewin'  the  assist 
ant  superintendent  in  his  little  coop  of  an  office. 
I  comes  out  whistlin'  and  lookin'  wise.  And 
that  night  after  I'd  made  a  trip  over  to  Long 
Island  across  the  Queensboro  Bridge  I  looks 
wiser  still.  Nothin'  to  do  until  next  Wednesday. 

And  when  it  comes  it  sure  opens  up  like  it's 
goin'  to  be  a  big  day,  all  right!  At  first  Old 
Hickory  announces  that  he  ain't  goin'  to  have 
any  cops  campin'  around  in  the  directors'  room. 
It  was  all  blithering  nonsense !  Hadn't  he  lived 
through  all  sorts  of  warnin's  before  And  he'd 
be  eternally  blim-scuttled  if  he  was  goin'  to  get 
cold  feet  over  a  few  faded  flowers ! 

There  was  Piddie,  though,  with  his  say.  His 
idea  is  to  have  the  reserves  from  two  precincts 
scattered  all  over  the  shop,  and  he  lugs  around 


PULLING  A  SLEUTH  STUNT         31 

such  a  serious  face  and  talks  so  panicky  that  at 
last  the  boss  compromises  on  havin'  two  of  the 
buildin'  specials  detailed  for  the  job.  We  smug 
gles  'em  into  the  big  room  at  eleven  o  'clock,  and 
tells  'em  to  lay  low  until  they  gets  the  word. 
Next  comes  Bingstetter,  blinkin'  mysterious, 
and  has  himself  concealed  behind  a  screen  in 
the  private  office.  By  that  time  Old  Hickory 
is  almost  as  nervous  as  anybody. 

"  Fine  state  of  affairs,  things  are  at  now," 
he  growls,  "  when  a  man  isn't  safe  unless  he  has 
a  bodyguard!  That's  what  comes  of  all  this 
political  agitation!  " 

* '  Have  no  fear, ' '  says  the  Doc ; ' '  you  will  not 
receive  the  fifth  bouquet.  Boy,  leave  that  door 
into  the  next  room  slightly  ajar.  He  will  try 
to  escape  that  way." 

"  Ajar  she  is,"  says  I,  proppin'  it  open  with 
a  'phone  directory. 

' '  'Tis  well, ' '  says  the  Doc.    ' '  Now  leave  us. ' ' 

I  was  goin'  to,  anyway;  for  at  exactly  noon  I 
had  a  date  somewhere  else.  There  was  a  win 
dow  openin'  off  the  bondroom  that  was  screened 
by  a  pile  of  cases,  and  out  from  that  was  an 
iron  fire  escape  runnin'  along  the  whole  court 
side  on  our  floor.  I'd  picked  that  window  out 
as  bein'  a  good  place  to  scout  from.  And  I 
couldn  't  have  been  better  placed ;  for  I  saw  just 
who  I  was  expectin'  the  minute  he  heaves  in 
sight.  I'd  like  to  have  had  one  glimpse,  though, 


32  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

of  Old  Hickory  and  the  Doc  and  Piddle  while 
they  was  watchin'  and  listenin'  and  holdin'  their 
breath  inside  there.  But  I'm  near  enough  when 
the  time  comes,  to  hear  that  chorus  of  gasps 
that's  let  loose  at  twelve- twenty-six  exact. 

' '  Ha !  ' '  says  the  Doc.  '  *  As  I  told  you — a 
red  rose!  " 

"  Well,  I'll  be  slam-whizzled !  "  explodes  Old 
Hickory. 

"  But — but  where  did  it  come  from?  "  pants 
Piddie.  "  Who — who  could  have— 

And  that's  just  when  little  Willie,  after  creep- 
in'  cautious  along  the  fire  escape,  gives  his  un- 
suspectin'  victim  the  snappy  elbow  tackle  from 
behind  and  shoves  him  into  view. 

"  Here's  your  desperado!  "  says  I,  givin'  my 
man  the  persuadin'  knee  in  the  small  of  his 
back.  *  *  Ah,  scramble  in  there,  Old  Top !  You 
ain't  goin'  to  be  hurt.  In  with  you  now!  " 

( '  Look  out!"  squeals  Piddie.  "Police, 
police!  " 

"Ah,  can  that!"  I  sings  out,  helpin'  my 
prisoner  through  the  window  and  followin' 
after.  "  Police  nothin'!  Shoo  'em  back,  will 
you?  He's  as  harmless  as  a  kitten." 

"  Torchy,"  calls  Old  Hickory,  recoverin'  his 
nerve  a  little,  "  what  is  the  meaning  of  this,  and 
who  have  you  there?  " 

"  This,"  says  I,  straightenin*  my  man  up 
with  a  shoulder  slap,  "  is  the  bearer  of  the  fifth 


PULLING  A  SLEUTH  STUNT         33 

bouquet — also  the  fourth,  and  the  third,  and  so 
on.  This  is  Mr.  Cubbins  of  the  Consolidated 
Window  Cleanin'  Company.  Ain't  that  right, 
eh,  old  sport?  " 

"  'Enery  Cubbins,  Sir,"  says  he,  scrapin'  his 
foot  polite  and  jerkin'  off  his  old  cap. 

11  And  was  it  you  who  just  threw  this  thing  on 
my  desk?  "  demands  Old  Hickory,  pointin'  to 
the  red  rose. 

"  Meanin'  no  'arm  at  all,  Sir,  no  'arm  at  all," 
says  Cubbins. 

' '  And  do  I  understand  that  you  brought  those 
other  flowers  in  the  same  way?  "  goes  on  Mr. 
Ellins. 

"  Not  thinkin'  you'd  mind,  Sir,"  says  Cub- 
bins;  "  but  if  there's  henny  hoffense  given,  I 
asks  pardon,  Sir." 

And  there  couldn't  be  any  mistakin'  the  genu 
ine  tremble  in  that  weak,  pipin'  voice,  or  the 
meek  look  in  them  watery  old  eyes.  For  Cub- 
bins  is  more  or  less  of  a  human  wreck,  when  you 
come  to  size  him  up  close, — a  thin,  bent-shoul 
dered,  faded  lookin'  old  party,  with  wispy, 
whitish  hair,  a  peaked  red  nose,  and  a  peculiar, 
whimsical  quirk  to  his  mouth  corners.  Old 
Hickory  looks  him  over  curious  for  a  minute 
or  so. 

"  Huh!  "  he  grunts  at  last.  "  So  you're  the 
one,  eh?  But  why  the  blue-belted  blazes  did 
you  do  it?  " 


34  ON  WITH  TOECHY 

All  Cubbins  does,  though,  is  to  finger  his  cap 
bashful. 

"  "Well,  Torchy,"  says  Mr.  Ellins,  "  you  seem 
to  be  running  this  show.  Perhaps  you'll  tell 
us." 

"  That's  further'n  I've  got,"  says  I.  "  You 
see,  when  I  traced  this  floral  tribute  business 
down  to  a  window  washer,  I— 

"  In  the  name  of  all  that's  brilliant,"  breaks 
in  Old  Hickory,  "  how  did  you  ever  do  that?  " 

"  Why,  I  got  to  thinkin'  about  it,"  says  I, 
11  and  it  struck  me  that  we  had  our  glass  cleaned 
every  Wednesday,  and  if  there  was  no  way  of 
anyone  smugglin'  flowers  in  through  the  doors, 
the  windows  was  all  there  was  left,  wa'n't  it! 
Also  who's  most  likely  to  be  monkeyin'  around 
outside,  fifteen  stories  up,  but  a  window 
washer?  " 

1  '  Ha !  ' '  says  Old  Hickory  through  his  teeth. 
"  And  did  you  do  that  by  the  introdeductive 
process,  may  I  ask?  " 

"  No  such  bunk  as  that,"  says  I.  "  Just  used 
my  bean,  that's  all.  Then  I  got  Mac,  the  as 
sistant  buildin'  super,  to  put  me  wise  as  to  who 
had  the  windows  on  our  floor,  and  by  throwin' 
a  bluff  over  the  'phone  I  made  the  Consolidated 
people  locate  Mr.  Cubbins  for  me.  Found  him 
putterin'  round  in  his  garden  over  in  Astoria, 
and  pumped  more  or  less  out  of  him ;  but  when 
it  come  to  gettin'  him  to  explain  why  it  was  he'd 


PULLING  A  SLEUTH  STUNT         35 

picked  you  out,  Mr.  Ellins,  as  a  mark  for  his 
bouquets,  I  fell  down  complete.  Mr.  Cubbins  is 
English,  as  maybe  you  noticed  by  his  talk,  and 
he  used  to  be  a  house  painter  before  his  health 
got  so  bad.  Now  he  lives  with  his  son-in-law, 
who  tells  me  that  the  old  gent " 

"  'E's  a  bit  of  a  liar,  my  son-in-law  is,"  pipes 
up  Cubbins;  "  a  bally  Socialist,  Sir,  and  I'm 
ashymed  to  s'y  'as  'ow  'e's  fond  of  abusin' 
'is  betters.  Thet's  'ow  it  all  come  abaht,  Sir. 
Alw'ys  tykin'  on  over  the  rich,  'e  is;  and  'e's 
most  fond  of  s'yin'  wrong  things  abaht  you 
special,  Sir;  callin'  you  a  bloodsuckin',  pred 
atory  person,  Sir,  and  himpolite  nimes  like 
thet.  '  Ah,  stow  thet,  Jimmy ! !  '  says  I.  '  All 
bloomin'  lies,  they  are.  There  ayn't  a  finer 
man  lives  than  Mr.  Ellins,'  says  I.  *  'Ow  do  you 
know?  '  says  'e.  *  'Ow?  '  says  I.  '  Don't  I  wash 
'is  hoffice  windows?  '  But  'e  keeps  at  it  of 
evenin's,  s'yin'  as  'ow  you  do  this  and  that,  an' 
'e  fair  talks  me  down,  Jimmy  does.  But  I 
know  w'at  I  knows;  so  to  relieve  my  feelin's  a 
bit  I've  been  bringin'  you  the  flowers  on  the  sly, 
Sir;  meanin',  as  I  says  before,  no  'arm  at  all, 
Sir." 

"  Well,  I'll  be  dashed!  "  says  Old  Hickory, 
squintin'  at  Cubbins  humorous.  "  So  you  think 
I'm  a  good  man,  eh?  " 

"I'm  quite  sure  of  it,  Sir,"  says  he.  "  As  I 
was  tellin'  Jimmy  only  last  night,  *  W'y,  at 


36  ON  WITH  TOECHY 

'ome  'e  'd  be  a  Lord !  '  And  so  you  would,  Sir. 
But,  as  I  sees  it,  you're  just  as  much  'ere,  Sir. 
You  build  things  up,  and  keep  things  goin', — 
big  things,  such  as  the  likes  of  me  and  Jimmy 
mykes  our  livin'  from.  And  it  ayn't  just  your 
money  mykes  you  a  gryte  man;  it's  your  brains 
and  your  big  'eart.  I  know  w'at  I  knows,  Sir, 
an'  I  'opes  as  'ow  you'll  tyke  no  hoifense  at  the 
flowers,  Sir." 

"  Not  a  bit,  Cubbins,"  says  Old  Hickory, 
smilin'  grim.  "  In  fact,  that's  a  first  rate  idea 
of  yours.  We  ought  to  have  some  sort  of  flow 
ers  here  all  the  time.  Got  many  left  in  your 
garden,  have  you,  Cubbins?  " 

"  Plenty,  Sir,"  says  Cubbins.  "  The  roses '11 
be  gone  soon  now,  Sir;  but  there's  golden  glow, 
and  hasters  comin'  on,  and  zinnias,  and " 

"  Then  you're  engaged,  Cubbins,"  says  Old 
Hickory,  "  to  supply  the  office  with  fresh  ones 
every  day.  When  yours  give  out  we'll  have  to 
buy  some,  I  suppose.  And  you'll  give  up  this 
window  cleaning  job  at  once.  It's  too  danger 
ous.  I  can't  afford  to  have  the  only  man  in  the 
United  States  who  holds  a  good  opinion  of  me 
risking  his  neck  like  that." 

"  Thankee  kindly,  Sir,"  says  Cubbins,  beam- 
in'  grateful.  "  And  we'll  see  w'at  Jimmy  'as 
to  s'y  to  that,  so  we  will!  r 

"  Report  that  in  full,"  says  Old  Hickory. 
11  And,  Mr.  Piddie,  see  that  Mr.  Cubbins'  name 


PULLING  A  SLEUTH  STUNT         37 

goes  on  the  payroll  from  today.  But,  by  the 
way,  where  is  your  distinguished  friend,  the 
scientific  investigator!  " 

"  Why — er — why "  says  Piddie,  flushin' 

up  and  swallowin'  hard,  "  Dr.  Bingstetter  left 
a  moment  ago." 

"Did,  eh?"  grunts  Old  Hickory.  "He 
should  have  stayed  awhile  and  allowed  Torchy 
to  give  him  a  few  pointers  on  evolving  things 
from  primal  facts." 

"  Ye-e-e-es,  Sir,"  says  Piddie,  his  face  all 
tinted  up  lovely. 

Which  winds  up,  as  you  might  say,  the  Mys 
tery  of  the  Fifth  Bouquet.  But,  believe  me, 
there  ain't  any  tamer  party  around  the  shop 
these  days  than  this  same  J.  Hemmingway  Pid 
die.  And  if  the  old  habits  get  to  croppin'  out 
any  time,  all  I  got  to  do  is  shut  one  eye,  put  my 
finger  to  my  lips,  and  whisper  easy,  "  Ah,  go 
tell  that  to  Doc  Bungstarter!  "  That  gets  him 
behavin'. 

And  Cubbins,  why — he's  blossomed  out  in  a 
new  fall  suit,  and  he  stops  at  the  desk  every  few 
days  to  tell  me  how  he  put  it  all  over  Jimmy  the 
night  before.  So  that  was  some  stroke,  what? 


CHAPTER  HI 

WHEN  IEA  SHOWED  SOME  PEP 

IT  was  good  domework  of  Mr.  Robert's  to 
tip  me  off  about  this  Higgins  party,  or  there's 
no  knowin'  how  hard  a  time  he  might  have  had 
gettin'  through  the  brass  gate.  As  it  is,  the 
minute  I  spots  the  watch  chain  and  the  round 
cuffs  and  the  neck  freckles,  I  sizes  him  up  as  the 
expected  delegate  from  the  fresh  mackerel  and 
blueberry  pie  district.  One  of  these  long,  lanky 
specimens,  he  is,  with  a  little  stoop  to  his  shoul 
ders,  ginger-colored  hair  and  mustache,  and  a 
pair  of  calm,  sea-blue  eyes  that  look  deep  and 
serious. 

I  finds  him  pacin'  deliberate  up  and  down  the 
waitin'  room  at  eight-fifty-three  A.M.,  which  is 
two  minutes  ahead  of  my  schedule  for  openin' 
the  Corrugated  for  gen'ral  business.  His  over 
coat  and  a  crumpled  mornin'  paper  are  on  the 
bench;  so  I  figures  he's  been  there  quite  some 
time.  Course,  it  might  have  been  a  stray  Rube 
of  most  any  name;  but  I  thinks  I'll  take  a 
chance. 

* '  Mornin ',  Ira, ' '  says  I. 


"  Howdy,"  says  he,  as  natural  as  if  this  was 
a  reg'lar  habit  of  ours.  Which  puts  it  up  to  me 
to  find  out  if  I'm  right,  after  all. 

"  Mr.  Higgins,  ain't  it?  "  says  I. 

He  nods. 

"  When  did  you  get  in?  "  says  I. 

"  About  six,"  says  he. 

'  *  Come  down  by  train  or  boat  ?  ' '  says  I. 

"  Train,"  says  he. 

"  You've  had  breakfast,  I  suppose?  "  I 
goes  on. 

Another  nod.  Oh,  yes,  for  an  economical  con- 
verser,  he  was  about  the  most  consistent  breath 
saver  I  ever  tackled.  You  could  easy  go  hoarse 
havin'  a  little  chat  with  him.  You'd  need  lots 
of  time  too;  for  after  everyone  of  my  bright 
little  sallies  Ira  looks  me  over  in  that  quiet, 
thoughtful  way  of  his,  then  counts  fifty  to  him 
self,  and  fin  'lly  decides  whether  it  '11  be  a  grunt 
or  just  a  nod.  Gettin '  information  out  of  him  was 
like  liftin'  a  trunk  upstairs  one  step  at  a  time. 
I  manages  to  drag  out,  though,  that  he'd  been 
hangin'  around  ever  since  the  buildin'  was 
opened  by  the  day  watchman  at  seven  o  'clock. 

"  Well,"  says  I,  "  Mr.  Kobert  was  lookin' 
for  you  to  blow  in  today ;  but  not  quite  so  early. 
It'll  be  near  ten  before  he  shows  up.  Better 
come  inside  and  have  a  comf 'table  chair." 

He  takes  that  proposition  up  with  himself, 
fin 'lly  passin'  on  it  favorable;  and  from  then 


40 

on  he  sits  there,  with  never  a  move  or  a  blink, 
watchin'  solemn  all  the  maneuvers  that  a  bat 
tery  of  lady  typists  has  to  go  through  before 
settlin'  down  for  a  forenoon's  work.  I'll  bet  he 
could  tell  you  too,  a  month  from  now,  just  how 
many  started  with  gum,  and  which  ones  renewed 
their  facial  scenery  with  dabs  from  the  chamois. 

So  you  can  see  why  I  was  some  relieved  when 
Mr.  Robert  arrives  and  takes  him  off  my  hands. 
I  knew  from  what  he  'd  said  the  day  before  that 
he'd  planned  to  have  about  a  half-hour  inter 
view  with  Mr.  Higgins ;  but  when  the  noon  hour 
struck  Ira  was  still  there.  At  one-fifteen  they 
goes  out  to  lunch  together,  and  at  two-thirty 
they  comes  back.  It's  after  four  when  Mr. 
Robert  fin'lly  comes  out  to  the  gate  with  his 
brow  wrinkled  up. 

11  Torchy,"  says  he,  "  how  is  your  bump  of 
diplomacy  today?  " 

"  It's  a  dimple,  I  expect,"  says  I. 

"You're  entirely  too  modest,"  says  he. 
"  Now,  I  remember  several  occasions  when  you 
have " 

"  Oh,  I  gen 'rally  have  my  nerve  with  me,  if 
that's  what  you  mean,"  says  I. 

"  But  I  don't  mean  that,"  says  he.  "  Per 
haps  finesse  is  the  better  word." 

"  It's  all  the  same  to  me,"  says  I.  "If  I've 
got  it  in  stock,  it's  yours.  What  do  I  work  it 
on?" 


WHEN  IEA  SHOWED  SOME  PEP     41 

"  Mr.  Higgins,"  says  he. 

"  Then  score  up  a  goose  egg  in  advance," 
says  I.  ' '  It  would  take  a  strong-arm  hypnotizer 
to  put  the  spell  on  Ira." 

Mr.  Eobert  grins.    "  Then  you  have  already 
tested  Mr.  Higgins'  conversational  powers?  ' 
says  he. 

"  Almost  lost  my  voice  gettin'  him  to  say 
good  mo  rain',"  says  I.  "  Say,  you'd  think  he'd 
done  all  his  talkin'  by  cable,  at  a  dollar  a  word. 
Where  'd  he  drift  in  from,  anyway  !  ' ' 

"  Boothbay  Harbor,"  says  Mr.  Robert. 

"  Is  that  a  foreign  country,"  says  I,  "  or  a 
nickname  for  some  flag  station!  ' 

"  It's  quite  a  lively  little  seaport,  I  believe," 
says  Mr.  Robert,  "up  on  the  coast  of  Maine." 

"  Oh,  Maine!  "  says  I.  "  Up  there  they're 
willin'  to  call  a  town  anything  that'll  get  a 
laugh.  But  what's  the  rest  of  the  scandal!  " 

It  wa'n't  any  thrillin'  tale,  though.  Seems 
Mr.  Robert  had  gone  into  the  yachtin'  regattas 
as  usual  this  last  summer;  but,  instead  of  liftin' 
the  mugs,  as  he'd  been  in  the  habit  of  doin', 
he'd  been  beat  out  by  a  new  entry, — beat  bad 
too.  But  he  wouldn't  be  an  Ellins  if  he  let  it  go 
at  that.  Not  much!  His  first  move  is  to  find 
out  who  built  the  Stingaree,  and  his  next  is  to 
wire  in  an  order  to  the  same  firm  to  turn  out  a 
sixty-footer  that'll  go  her  just  one  better.  Not 
gettin'  any  straight  answer  to  that,  he  sends 


42  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

word  for  the  head  of  the  yacht  works  to 
come  on  at  his  expense.  Mr.  Higgins  is  the 
result. 

"  But  the  deuce  of  it  is,"  says  Mr.  Robert, 
"  that,  while  I'm  convinced  he  is  the  cleverest 
designer  of  racing  yawls  that  we  have  in  the 
whole  country,  and  while  he  admits  quite  cheer 
fully  that  he  can  improve  on  this  year's  model, 
I  can't  get  him  to  say  positively  that  he  will 
build  such  a  boat  for  me." 

"  Yes,  I  should  expect  that  would  be  more'n 
he'd  let  go  of  all  in  one  day,"  says  I. 

11  But,  confound  it  all!  "  says  Mr.  Robert, 
"  I  want  to  know  now.  All  I  can  get  out  of 
him,  though,  is  that  he  can't  decide  for  a  while. 
Seems  to  have  something  or  other  on  his  mind. 
Now,  if  I  knew  what  was  bothering  him,  you  see, 
I  might — well,  you  get  the  point,  Torchy.  I  'm 
going  to  leave  it  to  you  to  find  out." 

"  Me!  "  says  I.  "  Gee!  I  ain't  any  thought 
extractor,  Mr.  Robert." 

"  But  you  have  rather  a  knack  of  getting  to 
the  bottom  of  things,"  he  insists,  "  and  if  I 
should  explain  to  Mr.  Higgins  my  regret  at 
being  unable  to  take  him  out  to  dinner,  and 
should  present  you  as  my  substitute  for  the 
evening — why,  you  might  get  some  hint,  you 
see.  At  least,  I  wish  you'd  try  it." 

"  Bring  him  on,  then,"  says  I;  "  but  it's  like 
playin'  a  30  to  1  shot.  Oh,  sure,  a  couple  of 


WHEN  IRA  SHOWED  SOME  PEP     43 

tens '11  be  more'n  enough  for  all  the  expense 
account  we  can  cook  up." 

And  you  should  have  seen  me  towin'  this 
Down  East  sphinx  around  town,  showin'  him 
the  sights,  and  tryin'  to  locate  his  chummy 
streak.  It  was  most  like  makin'  a  long  distance 
call  over  a  fuzzy  wire;  me  stramin'  my  vocal 
chords  bein'  chatty,  and  gettin'  back  only  now 
and  then  a  distant  murmur.  It  was  Ira's  first 
trip  to  a  real  Guntown,  where  we  have  salaried 
crooks  and  light  up  our  Main-st.  with  whisky 
signs ;  but  he  ain  't  got  any  questions  to  ask  or 
any  comments  to  pass.  He  just  allows  them 
calm  eyes  of  his  to  wander  placid  here  and  there 
over  the  passersby,  almost  like  he  was  expectin' 
to  see  someone  he  knew,  and  takin'  mighty  little 
notice  of  anything  in  partic'lar. 

"  That's  the  Metropolitan  tower  over  there, 
Mr.  Higgins,"  says  I.  "  See  the  big  clock!  " 

Ira  takes  one  glance  and  nods  his  head. 

"  And  here  comes  one  of  them  new  double- 
decker  Broadway  cars  they're  tryin 'out,"  I 
goes  on.  "  How's  that?  " 

But  no  enthus'm  from  Ira.  Must  be  a  hot 
town,  that  Boothbay  joint!  Along  about  six- 
thirty  I  suggests  that  it's  time  for  the  big  eats, 
and  tries  to  sound  him  on  his  partic'lar  fancy 
in  the  food  line. 

"  Plate  of  fish  chowder  would  suit  me,"  says 
Ira  after  due  contemplation. 


44  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

"  Fish  what?  "  says  I.  "  'Fraid  we  don't 
grow  anything  like  that  on  Broadway.  Nix  on 
the  shore  dinner !  You  trust  it  to  me,  Mr.  Hig- 
gins,  and  I'll  steer  you  up  against  some  appe 
tite  teasers  that'll  make  you  forget  all  the  home 
cookin'  you  ever  met." 

With  that  I  leads  him  to  the  flossiest  French 
cafe  I  knew  of,  got  him  planted  comf 'table  under 
an  illuminated  grape  arbor,  signals  Frangois- 
with-the-gold-chain-around-his-neck  to  stand  by, 
and  remarks  casual,  "  Wine  list  for  this  gen 
tleman.  Cut  loose,  Mr.  Higgins.  This  is  on 
the  boss,  you  know." 

"  What  say?  "  says  he,  runnin'  his  eye  over 
the  book  that  the  waiter  holds  out.  "  Rum? 
No,  Sir!" 

"  Flit  then,  Frangois,"  says  I.  "  We're  two 
dry  ones." 

And  my  hope  of  gettin'  a  tongue  loosener 
into  Ira  goes  glimmerin'.  When  it  comes  to 
tacklin'  strange  dishes,  though,  he  was  no  quit 
ter,  followin'  me  from  bouillabaisse  to  cafe 
parfait  without  battin'  an  eyelash,  and  me  or- 
derin'  reckless  from  the  card  just  to  see  what 
the  things  looked  like. 

I  don't  know  whether  it  was  the  fancy  ra 
tions,  or  the  sporty  crowd  around  us,  or  the 
jiggly  music,  or  a  combination  of  all  three ;  but 
by  the  time  I've  induced  Mr.  Higgins  to  tackle 
a  demitasse  and  light  up  a  seven-inch  Havana 


WHEN  IEA  SHOWED  SOME  PEP     45 

lie  mellows  enough  so  that  he's  almost  on  the 
point  of  makin'  a  remark  all  by  himself. 

"  Well,"  says  I  encouragin',  "  why  not  let 
it  come?  " 

And  it  does.  "  By  gorry!!  "  says  he.  "  It's 
most  eight  o'clock.  What  time  do  the  shows 
begin!  " 

"  I  was  just  go  in'  to  mention  that,"  says  I. 
"  Plenty  of  time,  though.  Anything  special 
you'd  like  to  see!  " 

"  Why,  yes,"  says  he.  And  then,  glancin' 
around  cautious,  he  leans  across  the  table  and 
asks  mysterious,  "  Say,  where 's  Maizie  Latour 
actin'?  " 

Honest,  it  comes  out  so  unexpected  he  had 
me  gaspin'.  "  Oh,  you  Boothbay  ringer!  "  says 
I.  "  Maizie,  eh?  Now,  who  would  have  thought 
it?  And  you  only  landed  this  mornin' !  Maizie 
— er — what  was  that  again?  " 

"  Latour,"  says  he,  flushin'  up  some  and  try- 
in'  not  to  notice  my  josh. 

' '  It 's  by  me, ' '  says  I.  ' '  Sounds  like  musical 
comedy,  though.  Is  she  a  showgirl,  or  one  of 
the  chicken  ballet?  " 

Ira  shakes  his  head  puzzled.  "  All  I  know," 
says  he,  "  is  that  she's  actin'  somewhere  in 
New  York,  and — and  I'd  like  to  find  out  where. 
I — I  got  to !  "  he  adds  emphatic. 

"  Then  you  ought  to  have  said  that  before," 
says  I, '  *  and  Mr.  Robert  would  have  put  one  of 


46 

his  chappy  friends  on  the  job.  Sorry,  but  when 
it  comes  to  chorus  girls,  I  ain't " 

"  Hold  on!  "  he  breaks  in.  "  You're  sort  of 
jumpin'  at  things,  Son.  The  fact  is  I — well,  I 
guess  I  might's  well  tell  you  as  anyone.  I — I 
got  to  tell  someone." 

"  Help!  "  thinks  I.  "  The  dam's  goin'  to 
give  way." 

11  You  see,"  he  goes  on,  "  it's  like  this:  Nel 
lie's  an  old  friend  of  mine,  and " 

"  Nellie!  "  says  I.    "  You  just  said  Maizie." 

"  That's  what  I  hear  she  goes  by  on  the 
stage,"  says  he.  "  She  was  Nellie  Mason  up 
to  the  Harbor." 

"  You  don't  mean  it?  "  says  I.  "  What  was 
she  doin'  there?  " 

"  She  was  table  girl  at  the  Mansion  House," 
says  he. 

"  Which?  "  says  I.  "  Oh,  dish  juggler,  eh? 
And  now  she's  on  the  stage?  Some  jump  for 
Nellie!  But,  honest  now,  Higgins,  you  don't 
mean  to  spring  one  of  them  mossy  'Way  Down 
East  drammers  on  me  as  the  true  dope?  Come 
now,  don't  tell  me  you  and  she  used  to  go  to 
school  together,  and  all  that!  " 

No,  it  wa'n't  quite  on  that  line.  She  was  only 
one  of  Boothbay's  fairest  daughters  by  adop 
tion,  havin'  drifted  in  from  some  mill  town — 
Biddeford,  I  think  it  was — where  a  weaver's 
strike  had  thrown  her  out  of  a  job.  She  was 


half  Irish  and  half  French-Canadian,  and,  ac- 
cordin'  to  Ira's  description,  she  was  some  orna 
mental. 

Anyway,  she  had  the  boys  all  goin'  in  no  time 
at  all.  Ira  was  mealin'  at  the  Mansion  House 
just  then,  though;  so  he  was  in  on  the  ground 
floor  from  the  start.  Even  at  that,  how  he  man 
aged  to  keep  the  rail  with  so  much  competition 
is  more'n  I  can  say;  but  there's  something  sort 
of  clean  and  wholesome  lookin'  about  him,  and 
I  expect  them  calm,  sea-blue  eyes  helped  along. 
Anyway,  him  and  Nellie  kept  comp'ny  there, 
I  take  it,  for  three  or  four  months  quite  steady, 
and  Ira  admits  that  he  was  plumb  gone  on  her. 

"  Well,  what  was  the  hitch?  "  says  I. 
"  Wouldn't  she  be  Mrs.  Higgins?  " 

1 '  Guess  she  would  if  I  had  asked  her, ' '  says; 
he ; ' '  but  I  didn  't  get  around  to  it  quick  enough. 
Fact  is,  I'd  just  bought  out  the  boat  shop,  and 
I  had  fifteen  or  twenty  men  to  work  for  me, 
with  four  new  keels  laid  down  at  once,  and — 
well,  I  was  mighty  rushed  with  work  just  then 
and " 

"  I  get  you,"  says  I.  "  While  you  was  mak- 
in'  up  your  mind  what  to  say,  some  wholesale 
drug  drummer  with  a  black  mustache  won  her 
away. ' ' 

It 's  more  complicated  than  that,  though.  One 
of  the  chambermaids  had  a  cousin  who  was  as 
sistant  property  man  with  a  Klaw  &  Erlanger 


'48  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

comp'ny,  and  he'd  sent  on  the  tip  how  some 
enterprisin'  manager  was  lookin'  for  fifty  new 
faces  for  a  Broadway  production;  and  so,  if 
Cousin  Maggie  wanted  to  shake  the  hotel  busi 
ness,  here  was  her  chance.  Maggie  wanted  to, 
all  right;  but  she  lacked  the  nerve  to  try  it 
alone.  Now,  if  Nellie  would  only  go  along  too— 
why 

And  it  happens  this  was  one  night  when  Ira 
had  overlooked  a  date  he  had  with  Nellie,  and 
that  while  he  was  doin'  overtime  at  the  boat- 
works  Nellie  was  waitin'  lonesome  on  the  corner 
all  dressed  to  go  over  to  South  Bristol  to  a 
dance.  So  this  bulletin  from  the  great  city  finds 
her  in  a  state  of  mind. 

"  Course,"  says  Maggie,  "  you  got  a  feller, 
and  all  that." 

"  Humph!  "  says  Nellie. 

"  And  there's  no  tellin',"  Maggie  goes  on, 
glancin'  at  her  critical,  "  if  your  figure  would 
suit." 

"  If  they  can  stand  for  yours,"  says  Nellie, 
"  I  guess  I'll  take  a  chance  too.  Come  on. 
"We'll  take  the  early  morning  boat." 

And  they  did.  Ira  didn't  get  the  details 
until  about  a  month  later,  when  who  should 
drift  back  to  the  Mansion  House  but  Maggie. 
Along  with  two  or  three  hundred  other  brunettes 
and  imitation  blondes,  she'd  been  shuffled  into 
the  discard.  But  Nellie  had  been  signed  up 


WHEN  IRA  SHOWED  SOME  PEP     49 

first  rattle  out  of  the  box,  and  accordin'  to 
the  one  postcard  that  had  come  back  from  her 
since  she  was  now  flaggin'  as  Maizie  Latour. 
But  no  word  at  all  had  come  to  Ira. 

"If  I'd  only  bought  that  ring  sooner!  "  he 
sighs.  "  I've  got  it  now,  though.  Bought  it  in 
Portland  on  my  way  down.  See  ?  ' '  and  he  snaps 
open  a  white  satin  box,  disclosin'  a  cute  little 
pearl  set  in  a  circle  of  chip  diamonds. 

"  That's  real  dainty  and  classy,"  says  I. 

"  Ought  to  be,"  says  Ira.  "  It  cost  me  seven- 
teen-fifty.  But  there's  so  blamed  much  to  this 
place  that  I  don't  see  just  how  I'm  goin'  to  find 
her,  after  all." 

"  Ah,  cheer  up,  Ira!  "  says  I.  "  You've  got 
me  int 'rested,  you  have,  and,  while  I  ain't  any 
theatrical  directory,  I  expect  I  could  think  up 

some  way  to Why,  sure !  There 's  a  Tyson 

stand  up  here  a  few  blocks,  where  they  have  all 
the  casts  and  programmes.  Let's  go  have  a 
look." 

It  wa'n't  a  long  hunt,  either.  The  third  one 
we  looked  at  was  1 1  Whoops,  Angelina !  ' '  and 
halfway  down  the  list  of  characters  we  finds  this 
item:  "  Sunflower  Girls — Tessie  Trelawney, 
Mae  Collins,  Maizie  Latour " 

11  Here  we  are!  "  says  I.  "  And  there's  just 
time  to  get  in  for  the  first  curtain." 

Say,  I  expect  you've  seen  this  "  Whoops,  An 
gelina  !  ' '  thing.  Just  punk  enough  to  run  a 


50 

year  on  Broadway,  ain't  it?  And  do  you  re 
member  there  along  towards  the  end  of  the  first 
spasm  where  they  ring  in  that  * '  Field  Flowers 
Fair  "  song,  with  a  deep  stage  and  a  diff  'rent 
chorus  for  each  verse?  Well,  as  the  Sunflowers 
come  on,  did  you  notice  special  the  second  one 
from  the  right  end?  That's  Maizie. 

And,  believe  me,  she's  some  queen!  Course, 
it's  a  bunch  of  swell  lookers  all  around,  or  they 
wouldn't  be  havin'  the  S.  R.  0.  sign  out  so  often ; 
but  got  up  the  way  she  was,  with  all  them  yellow 
petals  makin'  a  sort  of  frame  for  her,  and  them 
big  dark  eyes  rollin'  bold  and  sassy,  this  ex-table 
girl  from  the  Mansion  House  stands  out  some 
prominent. 

"  By  gorry!  M  explodes  Ira,  as  he  gets  his 
first  glimpse.  And  from  then  on  he  sits  with  his 
eyes  glued  on  her  as  long  as  she's  on  the  stage. 

He  had  a  good  view  too ;  for  comin '  late  all  I 
could  get  was  upper  box  seats  at  three  a  throw, 
and  I  shoves  Ira  close  up  to  the  rail.  That  one 
remark  is  all  he  has  to  unload  durin'  the  whole 
performance,  and  somehow  I  didn't  have  the 
heart  to  break  in  with  any  comments.  You  see, 
I  wa'n't  sure  how  he  might  be  takin'  it;  so  I 
waits  until  the  final  curtain,  and  then  nudges 
him  out  of  his  dream. 

"  Well,  how  about  it?  "  says  I.  "  Ready  to 
scratch  your  entry  now,  are  you?  " 

Eh ?  "  says  he,  rousin 'up.   "  Pull  out ?   No, 


. . 


"BY  GORRY!"  EXPLODES  IRA  AS  HE 


WHEN  IRA  SHOWED  SOME  PEP     51 

Sir !  I — I  'm  going  to  give  her  a  chance  to  take 
that  ring." 

"  You  are?  "  says  I.  "  Well,  well!  Bight 
there  with  the  pep,  ain't  you?  But  how  you 
goin'  to  manage  it?  " 

"  Why,  I — I  don't  know,"  says  he,  lookin' 
blank.  ' '  Say,  Son,  can 't  you  fix  it  for  me  some 
way?  I — I  want  Nellie  to  go  back  with  me.  If 
I  could  only  see  her  for  a  minute,  and  explain 
how  it  was  I  couldn't " 

*  *  You  win,  Ira !  ' '  says  I.  * '  Hanged  if  there 
ain't  Tucky  Moller  down  there  in  an  usher's 
uniform.  He's  an  old  friend  of  mine.  We'll 
see  what  he  can  do. ' ' 

Tucky  was  willin'  enough  too;  but  the  best  he 
can  promise  is  to  smuggle  a  note  into  the  dress- 
in'  rooms.  We  waits  in  the  lobby  for  the  an 
swer,  and  inside  of  five  minutes  we  has  it. 

"  Ain't  they  the  limit,  these  spotlight  chas 
ers?  "  says  Tucky.  "  She  tells  me  to  chuck  it 
in  the  basket  with  the  others,  and  says  she'll 
read  it  to-morrow.  Huh!  And  only  a  quarter 
tip  after  the  second  act  when  I  lugs  her  in  a  bid 
to  a  cabaret  supper!  " 

"  Tonight?  "  says  I.    "  Where  at,  Tucky?  " 

"  Looey's,"  says  he,  "  with  a  broker  guy 
that's  beenbuyin'  B-10  every  night  for  a  week." 

But  when  I  leads  Ira  outside  and  tries  to  ex 
plain  how  the  case  stands,  and  breaks  it  to  him 
gentle  that  his  stock  has  taken  a  sudden  slump, 


52  ON  WITH  TOUCHY 

it  develops  that  he's  one  of  these  gents  who 
don't  know  when  they're  crossed  off. 

"  I've  got  to  see  her  tonight,  that's  all,"  says 
he.  *  *  What 's  the  matter  with  our  going  to  the 
same  place!  " 

"  For  one  thing,"  says  I,  "  they  wouldn't  let 
us  in  without  our  open-faced  clothes  on.  Got 
yours  with  you!  " 

"  Full  evenin'  dress?  "  says  Ira,  with  his 
eyes  bugged.  "  Why,  I  never  had  any." 

"  Then  it's  by-by,  Maizie,"  says  I. 

"  Dog-goned  if  it  is!  "  says  he.  "  Guess  I 
can  wait  around  outside,  can't  I?  " 

"  Well,  you  have  got  sportin'  blood,  Ira," 
says  I.  "  Sure,  there's  nothin'  to  stop  your 
waitin '  if  you  don 't  block  the  traffic.  But  maybe 
it'll  be  an  hour  or  more." 

"  I  don't  care,"  says  he.  "  And — and  let's 
go  and  have  a  glass  of  soda  first." 

Course,  I  couldn't  go  away  and  leave  things 
all  up  in  the  air  like  that ;  so  after  Ira  'd  blown 
himself  we  wanders  up  to  the  cabaret  joint  and 
I  helps  him  stick  around. 

It's  some  lively  scene  in  front  of  Looey's  at 
that  time  of  night  too ;  with  all  the  taxi's  comin' 
and  goin'  and  the  kalsomined  complexions 
drif  tin '  in  and  out,  and  the  head  waiters  coppin ' 
out  the  five-spots  dexterous.  And  every  little 
while  there's  something  extra  doin';  like  a 
couple  of  college  hicks  bein'  led  out  by  the 


WHEN  TEA  SHOWED  SOME  PEP     53 

strong-arm  squad  for  disputin'  a  bill,  or  a  per 
fect  gent  all  ablaze  bavin'  a  debate  witb  his  lady 
love,  or  a  bunch  of  out-of-town  buyers  discov- 
erin'  the  evenin'  dress  rule  for  the  first  time  and 
gettin'  peeved  over  it. 

But  nothin'  can  drag  Ira's  gaze  from  that 
revolvin'  exit  door  for  more'n  half  a  minute. 
There  he  stands,  watchin'  eager  every  couple 
that  comes  out;  not  excited  or  fidgety,  you  un 
derstand,  but  calm  and  in  dead  earnest.  It  got 
to  be  midnight,  then  half  past,  then  quarter  to 
one;  and  then  all  of  a  sudden  there  comes  a 
ripplin',  high-pitched  laugh,  and  out  trips  a 
giddy-dressed  fairy  in  a  gilt  and  rhinestone 
turban  effect  with  a  tall  plume  stickin'  straight 
up  from  the  front  of  it.  She's  one  of  these  big, 
full-curved,  golden  brunettes,  with  long  jet 
danglers  in  her  ears  and  all  the  haughty  airs  of 
a  grand  opera  star.  I  didn't  dream  it  was  the 
one  we  was  lookin'  for  until  I  sees  Ira  straighten 
up  and  step  out  to  meet  her. 

"  Nellie,"  says-  he,  sort  of  choky  and 
pleadin'. 

It's  a  misfire,  though;  for  just  then  she's 
turned  to  finish  some  remark  to  a  fat  old  sport 
with  flat  ears  and  bags  under  his  eyes  that's 
followin'  close  behind.  So  it  ain't  until  she's 
within  a  few  feet  of  Higgins  that  she  sees  him 
at  all.  Then  she  stares  at  him  sort  of  doubtful, 
like  she  could  hardly  believe  her  eyes. 


54  ON  WITH  TOECHY 

"  Nellie,"  he  begins  again,  "  I've  been  want 
ing  to  tell  you  liow  it  was  that " 

* '  You !  ' '  she  breaks  in.  And  with  that  she 
throws  her  head  back  and  laughs.  It  wa'n't 
what  you  might  call  a  pleasant  laugh,  either. 
It  sounds  cold  and  hard  and  bitter. 

That's  the  extent  of  the  reunion  too.  She's 
still  laughin'  as  she  brushes  by  him  and  lets 
the  old  sport  help  her  into  the  taxi;  and  a  sec 
ond  later  we're  left  standin'  there  at  the  edge 
of  the  curb  with  another  taxi  rollin '  up  in  front 
of  us.  I  notices  that  Ira's  holdin'  something 
in  his  hand  that  he's  starin'  at  foolish.  It's  the 
satin  box  with  the  seventeen-fifty  ring  in  it. 

"  Well,"  says  I,  as  we  steps  back,  "  returns 
all  in,  ain't  they!  " 

"  Not  by  a  long  shot!  "  says  Ira.  "  Dinged 
if  I  don't  know  someone  that'll  be  glad  to  take 
a  ring  from  me,  and  that's  Maggie!  ' 

"  Whew!  "  says  I.  "  Well,  that's  some  quick 
shift.  Then  you  ain't  goin'  to  linger  round  with 
a  busted  heart?  " 

' '  Not  much !  ' '  says  Ira.  ' '  Guess  I  Ve  played 
fool  about  long  enough.  I'm  goin'  home." 

11  That's  gen 'rally  a  safe  bet  too,"  says  I. 
"  But  how  about  buildin'  that  boat  for  Mr. 
Robert?  " 

"  I'll  build  it,"  says  he;  "  that  is,  soon  as  I 
can  fix  it  up  with  Maggie." 

"  Then  it's  a  cinch,"  says  I;  "  for  you  look 


WHEN  IEA  SHOWED  SOME  PEP     55 

to  me,  Ira,  like  one  of  the  kind  that  can  come 
back  strong." 

So,  you  see,  I  had  somethin*  definite  to  re 
port  next  mornin'. 

"He  will,  eh?  Bully!"  says  Mr.  Robert. 
"  But  why  couldn't  he  have  said  as  much  to  me 
yesterday?  What  was  the  trouble?  " 

11  Case  of  moth  chasin',"  says  I,  "  from  the 
kerosene  circuit  to  the  white  lights.  But,  say, 
I  didn't  know  before  that  Broadway  had  so 
many  recruitin'  stations.  They  ought  to  put 
Boothbay  Harbor  on  the  map  for  this." 


CHAPTEE  IV 

TOBCHY  BUGS  THE  SYSTEM 

GUESS  I  ain't  mentioned  Mortimer  before. 
Didn't  seem  hardly  worth  while.  You  know — 
there  are  parties  like  that,  too  triflin'  to  do  any 
beefin'  about.  But,  honest,  for  awhile  there  first 
off  this  young  shrimp  that  was  just  makin' 
his  debut  as  one  of  Miller's  subslaves  in  the 
bondroom  did  get  on  my  nerves  more  or  less. 
He's  a  slim,  fine-haired,  fair-lookin'  young  gent, 
with  quick,  nervous  ways  and  a  habit  of  holdin' 
his  chin  well  up.  No  boob,  you  understand.  He 
was  a  live  one,  all  right. 

And  it  wa'n't  his  havin'  his  monogram  em 
broidered  on  his  shirt  sleeves  or  his  wearin'  a 
walkin'  stick  down  to  work  that  got  me  sore. 
But  you  don 't  look  for  the  raw  rebuff  from  one 
of  these  twelve-dollar  file  jugglers.  That's  what 
he  slips  me,  though,  and  me  only  tryin'  to  put 
across  the  cheery  greetin'! 

"  Well,  Percy,"  says  I,  seein'  him  wanderin' 
around  lonesome  durin'  lunch  hour,  "  is  it  you 
for  the  Folies  today,  or  are  you  takin'  a  chance 
on  one  of  them  new  automatic  grub  factories 
with  me?  " 

56 


TORCHY  BUGS  THE  SYSTEM        57 

"  Beg  pardon?  "  says  he,  givin'  me  that 
frigid,  distant  look. 

11  Ah,  can  the  hauteur!  "  says  I.  "  We're  on 
the  same  payroll.  Maybe  you  didn't  notice  me 
before,  though.  Well,  I'm  the  guardian  of  the 
gate,  and  I'm  offerin'  to  tow  you  to  a  new  sand 
wich  works  that's  quite  popular  with  the  staff." 

"  Thanks,"  says  he.  "I  am  lunching  at  my 
club."  And  with  that  he  does  a  careless  heel- 
spin,  leavin'  me  stunned  and  gawpin'. 

"  Slap!  "  thinks  I.  "  You  will  go  doin'  the 
little  ray  of  sunshine  act,  will  you!  Lunchin'  at 
his  club!  Now  there's  a  classy  comeback  for 
you!  Guess  I'll  spring  that  myself  sometime- 
Score  up  for  Percy!  " 

But  I  wa'n't  closin'  the  incident  at  that,  and, 
while  in  my  position  it  wouldn't  have  been 
hardly  the  thing  for  me  to  get  out  the  war  club 
and  camp  on  his  trail, — him  only  a  four-flushin' 
bond  clerk, — I  was  holdin'  myself  ready  for  the 
next  openin'.  It  comes  only  a  few  mornin's 
later  when  he  strolls  in  casual  about  nine-thirty 
and  starts  to  pike  by  into  the  cloakroom.  But 
I  had  my  toe  against  the  brass  gate. 

"  What  name?  "  says  I. 

* '  Why, ' '  says  he,  flushin '  up, ' '  I — er — I  work 
here." 

"  Excuse,"  says  I,  drawin'  back  the  foot. 
' '  Mistook  you  for  Alfy  Vanderbilt  come  to  buy 
us  out." 


58  ON  WITH  TOUCHY 

"Puppy!"  says  lie  explosive  through  his 
front  teeth. 

"  Meanin'  me?  "  says  I.  "  Why,  Algernon! 
How  rough  of  you!  " 

He  just  glares  back  over  his  shoulder  and 
passes  on  for  his  session  with  Miller.  I'll  bet  he 
got  it  too ;  for  here  in  the  Corrugated  we  don 't 
stand  for  any  of  that  nine-thirty  dope  except 
from  Mr.  Robert. 

It's  only  the  next  week,  though,  that  Morti 
mer  pulls  a  couple  more  delayed  entrances  in 
succession,  and  I  sure  was  lookin'  to  see  him 
come  out  with  a  fresh-air  pass  in  his  hand.  But 
it  didn't  happen.  Instead,  as  I'm  in  Old  Hick 
ory's  office  a  few  days  later,  allowin'  him  to 
give  me  a  few  fool  directions  about  an  errand, 
in  breaks  Miller  all  glowin'  under  the  collar. 

"  Mr.  Ellins,"  says  he,  "I  can't  stand  that 
young  Upton.  He 's  got  to  go !  " 

"  That's  too  bad,"  says  Old  Hickory,  shiftin' 
his  cigar  to  port.  "I'd  promised  his  father  to 
give  the  boy  a  three  months '  trial  at  least.  One 
of  our  big  stockholders,  Colonel  Upton  is,  you 
know.  But  if  you  say  you  can't — 

"  Oh,  I  suppose  I  can,  Sir,  in  that  case,"  says 
Miller;  "but  he's  worse  than  useless  in  the 
department,  and  if  there's  no  way  of  getting 
him  to  observe  office  hours  it's  going  to  be  bad 
for  discipline." 

"  Try  docking  him,  Miller,"  suggests  Mr. 


TOECHY  BUGS  THE  SYSTEM        59 

Ellins.  "  Dock  him  heavy.  And  pile  on  the 
work.  Keep  him  on  the  jump. ' ' 

"  Yes,  Sir,"  says  Miller,  grinnin'  at  me  as  he 
goes  out. 

And  of  course  this  throws  a  brighter  light  on 
Mortimer's  case, — pampered  son  takin'  his 
first  whirl  at  honest  toil,  and  all  that.  Then 
later  in  the  day  I  gets  a  little  private  illumina 
tion.  Mother  arrives.  Eather  a  gushy,  talky 
party  she  is,  with  big,  snappy  eyes  like  Morti 
mer's,  and  the  same  haughty  airs.  Just  now, 
though,  she 's  a  little  puffy  from  excitement  and 
deep  emotion. 

Seems  Mother  and  Sister  Janice  are  on  their 
way  to  the  steamer,  billed  to  spend  the  winter 
abroad.  Also  it  develops  that  stern  Father, 
standin'  grim  and  bored  in  the  background,  has 
ruled  that  Son  mustn't  quit  business  for  any 
farewell  lallygaggin'  at  the  pier.  Hence  the 
fam'ly  call.  As  the  touchin'  scene  all  takes 
place  in  the  reception  room,  just  across  the 
brass  rail  from  my  desk,  I'm  almost  one  of  the 
party. 

11  Oh,  my  darling  boy!  "  wails  Ma,  pushin' 
back  her  veils  and  wrappin'  him  in  the  fond 
clinch. 

"  Aw,  Mother!  "  protests  Mortimer. 

"  But  we  are  to  be  so  far  apart,"  she  goes  on, 
"  and  with  your  father  in  California  you  are 
to  be  all  alone !  And  I  just  know  you  '11  be  for- 


60  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

lorn  and  lonesome  in  that  dreadful  boarding 
house!  Oh,  it  is  perfectly  awful!  " 

"  Oh,  quit  it,  Mother.  I'll  be  all  right,"  says 
Mortimer. 

"  But  the  work  here,"  comes  back  Mother. 
"  Does  it  come  so  hard!  How  are  you  to  stand 
it?  Oh,  if  you  had  only  kept  on  at  college,  then 
all  this  wouldn't  have  been  necessary." 

"  Well,  I  didn't,  that's  all,"  says  Mortimer; 
"  so  what's  the  use?  " 

"  I  shall  worry  about  you  all  the  time,"  in 
sists  Mother.  "  And  you  are  so  careless  about 
writing!  How  am  I  to  know  that  you  are  not 
ill,  or  in  trouble?  Now  promise  me,  if  you 
should  break  down  under  the  strain,  that  you 
will  cable  me  at  once. ' ' 

11  Oh,  sure!  "  says  Mortimer.  "  But  time's 
up,  Mother.  I  must  be  getting  back.  Good- 
by." 

I  had  to  turn  my  shoulder  on  the  final  break 
away,  and  I  thought  the  whole  push  had  cleared 
out,  when  I  hears  a  rustle  at  the  gate,  and  here's 
Mother  once  more,  with  her  eyes  fixed  investi- 
gatin'  on  me. 

"  Boy,"  says  she,  "  are  you  employed  here 
regularly?  " 

"I'm  one  of  the  fixtures,  Ma'am,"  says  I. 

"  Very  well,"  says  she.  "  I  am  glad  to  hear 
it.  And  you  have  rather  an  intelligent  appear- 
_ance." 


TOBCHY  BUGS  THE  SYSTEM   61 

* '  Mostly  bluff,  though, ' '  says  I.  * '  You  must- 
n't  bank  too  much  on  looks." 

"  Ah,  but  I  can  tell!  "  says  she,  noddin'  her 
head  and  squintin'  shrewd.  "  You  have  a  kind 
face  too." 

11  Ye-e-esl  "  says  I.    "  But  what's  this  cue 
for!  " 

"  I  will  tell  you,  Boy,"  says  she,  comin'  up 
confidential.  "  You  see,  I  must  trust  someone 
in  this  matter.  And  you  will  be  right  here, 
where  you  can  see  him  every  day,  won't  you — 
my  son  Mortimer,  I  mean!  " 

"  I  expect  I'll  have  to,"  says  I,  "  if  he 
sticks. ' ' 

"  Then  you  must  do  this  for  me,"  she  goes 
on.  "  Keep  close  to  him.  Make  yourself  his 
friend." 

"  Me!  "  says  I.  "  Well,  there  might  be  some 
trouble  about  that." 

"  I  understand,"  says  she.  "  It  will  be  diffi 
cult,  under  the  circumstances.  And  Mortimer 
has  such  a  proud,  reserved  nature !  He  has  al 
ways  been  that  way.  But  now  that  he  is  thrown 
upon  his  own  resources,  and  if  you  could  once 
gain  his  confidence,  he  might  allow  you  to — well, 
you'll  try,  won't  you!  And  then  I  shall  depend 
upon  you  to  send  word  to  me  once  every  week  as 
to  how  he  looks,  if  he  seems  happy,  how  he  is 
getting  on  in  business,  and  so  on.  Come,  do 
you  promise!  " 


62  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

'  *  Is  this  a  case,  of  philanthropy,  or  what  ?  ' 
says  I. 

"  Oh,  I  shall  see  that  you  are  well  repaid," 
says  she. 

"  That  listens  well,"  says  I;  "  but  it's  kind 
of  vague.  Any  figures,  now?  " 

"  Why — er — yes,"  says  she,  hesitatin'. 
"  Suppose  I  should  send  you,  say,  five  dollars 
for  every  satisfactory  report?  ' 

"  Then  I'm  on  the  job,"  says  I. 

And  in  two  minutes  more  she's  left  me  the  ad 
dress  of  her  London  bankers,  patted  me  con- 
descendin'  on  the  shoulder,  and  has  flitted.  So 
here  I  am  with  a  brand  new  side  line, — an  as 
signment  to  be  friendly  at  so  much  per.  Can 
you  beat  that? 

It  wa'n't  until  afterwards,  either,  when  I'm 
busy  throwin'  on  the  screen  pictures  of  how  that 
extra  five '11  fat  up  the  Saturday  pay  envelope, 
that  I  remembers  the  exact  wordin'  of  the  con 
tract.  Five  for  every  satisfactory  report.  Gee ! 
that's  different!  Then  here's  where  I  got  to 
see  that  Mortimer  behaves,  or  else  I  lose  out. 
And  I  don't  waste  any  time  plannin'  the  cam 
paign.  I  tackles  him  as  he  strolls  out  thirty 
seconds  ahead  of  the  twelve  o'clock  whistle. 

"  After  another  one  of  them  clubby 
lunches?  "  says  I. 

"  What's  that  to  you?  "  he  growls. 

"I'm  int 'rested,  that's  all,"  says  I. 


TORCHY  BUGS  THE  SYSTEM        63 

"  Oh,  no,  you're  not,"  says  he;  "  you're  just 
fresh." 

"  Ah,  come  now,  Morty  "  says  I.  "  This 
ain't  no  reg'lar  feud  we're  indulgin'  in,  you 
know.  Ditch  the  rude  retort  and  lemme  tow 
you  to  a  joint  where  for ' 

"  Thanks,"  says  Mortimer.  "  I  prefer  my 
own  company." 

* '  Gee !  what  poor  taste !  ' '  says  I. 

And  it  looked  like  I'd  gone  and  bugged  any 
five-spot  prospects  with  my  first  try. 

So  I  lets  Mortimer  simmer  for  a  few  days, 
not  makin'  any  more  cracks,  friendly  or  other 
wise.  I  was  about  to  hand  in  a  blank  report  too, 
when  one  noon  he  sort  of  hesitates  as  he  passes 
the  desk,  and  then  stops. 

"  I  say,"  he  begins,  "  show  me  that  cheap 
luncheon  place  you  spoke  of,  will  you?  " 

It's  more  of  an  order  than  anything  else;  but 
that  only  makes  this  sudden  shift  of  his  more 
amusin'.  "  Why,  sure,"  says  I.  "  Soured  on 
the  club,  have  you?  " 

' '  Not  exactly, ' '  says  he ;  * '  but — well,  the  fact 
is,  Father  must  have  forgotten  to  send  a  check 
for  last  month's  bill,  and  I'm  on  the  board — 
posted,  you  know." 

1 '  Then  that  wa  'n  't  any  funny  dream  of  yours, 
eh,"  says  I,  "  this  club  business?  Which  is  it, 
Lotos  or  the  Union  League  ?  ' ' 

"  It's  my  frat  club,  of  course,"  says  Mor- 


€4  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

timer.  "  And  I  don't  mind  saying  that  it's  a 
deucedly  expensive  place  for  me  to  go,  even 
when  I  can  sign  checks  for  my  meals.  I'm  al 
ways  being  dragged  into  billiards,  dollar  a  cor 
ner,  and  that  sort  of  thing.  It  counts  up,  and 
I — I'm  running  rather  close  to  the  wind  just 
now. ' ' 

"  What!  And  you  gettin'  twelve?  "  says  I. 
"  Why,  say,  some  supports  f  am 'lies  on  that. 
Takes  managin',  though.  But  I'll  steer  you 
round  to  Max's,  where  for  a  quarter  you 
can " 

1 '  A  quarter !  ' '  breaks  in  Mortimer.  *  *  But — 
but  that's  more  than  I  have  left." 

"  And  this  only  Wednesday!  "  says  I.  "  Gee ! 
but  you  have  been  goin'  the  pace,  ain't  you? 
What  is  the  sum  total  of  the  reserve,  anyway?  ' 

Mortimer  scoops  into  his  trousers  pockets, 
fishin'  up  a  silver  knife,  a  gold  cigar  clipper,  and 
seventeen  cents  cash. 

« «  Well,  well !  ' '  says  I.  « '  That  is  gettin '  down 
to  hardpan!  It's  breakin'  one  of  my  business 
rules,  but  I  see  where  I  underwrite  your  lunch 
ticket  for  the  next  few  days." 

"  You  mean  you're  going  to  stake  me?  "  says 
he.  "  But  why?  " 

"  Well,  it  ain't  on  account  of  your  winnin' 
ways,"  says  I. 

"Humph!"  says  he.  "Here!  You  may 
have  this  stickpin  as  security." 


TORCHY  BUGS  THE  SYSTEM   65 

1  i  Gwan !  ' '  says  I.  "I  ain 't  no  loan  shark. 
Maybe  I'm  just  makin'  an  investment  in  you. 
Come  on  to  Max's." 

I  could  see  Mortimer's  nose  begin  to  turn  up 
as  we  crowds  in  at  a  table  where  a  couple  of 
packers  from  the  china  store  next  door  was  do- 
in'  the  sword  swallowin'  act.  "  What  a  noisy, 
messy  place !  "  says  he. 

"  The  service  ain't  quite  up  to  Louis  Mar 
tin's,  that's  a  fact,"  says  I;  "  but  then,  there's 
no  extra  charge  for  the  butter  and  toothpicks." 

We  tried  the  dairy  lunch  next  time;  but  he 
don't  like  that  much  better.  Pushin'  up  to  the 
coffee  urn  with  the  mob,  and  havin'  a  tongue 
sandwich  slammed  down  in  front  of  him  by  a 
grub  hustler  that  hadn't  been  to  a  manicure 
lately  was  only  a  couple  of  the  details  Mortimer 
shies  at. 

"  Ah,  you'll  soon  get  to  overlook  little  things 
like  that,"  says  I. 

Mortimer  shakes  his  head  positive.  "  It's 
the  disgusting  crowd  one  has  to  mingle  with," 
says  he.  "  Such  a  cheap  lot  of — of  rough 
necks!  " 

"  Huh!  "  says  I.  "  Lots  of  'em  are  pullin' 
down  more'n  you  or  me.  Some  of  'em  are  al 
most  human  too." 

"  I  don't  care,"  says  he.  "I  dislike  to  mix 
with  them.  It's  bad  enough  at  the  boarding 
house." 


66  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

"  None  of  the  aristocracy  there,  either?  ' 
says  I. 

"  They're  freaks,  all  of  them,"  says  he. 
' '  What  do  you  think — one  fellow  wears  an  out 
ing  shirt  in  to  dinner!  Then  there's  an  old 
person  with  gray  whiskers  who — well,  I  can't 
bear  to  watch  him.  The  others  are  almost  as 
bad." 

"  When  you  get  to  know  the  bunch  you  won't 
mind,"  says  I. 

"  But  I  don't  care  to  know  them,"  says  Mor 
timer.  "  I  haven't  spoken  to  a  soul,  and  don't 
intend  to.  They're  not  my  kind,  you  see." 

"  Are  you  boastin',  or  complainin'?  "  says 
I.  "  Anyway,  you're  in  for  a  lonesome  time. 
What  do  you  do  evenin's?  ' 

"  Walk  around  until  I'm  tired,  that's  all," 
says  he. 

"  That's  excitin'— I  don't  think,"  says  I. 

Next  he  branches  off  on  Miller,  and  starts 
tellin'  me  what  a  deep  and  lastin'  grouch  he'd 
accumulated  against  his  boss.  But  I  ain't  en- 
couragin'  any  hammer  play  of  that  kind. 

"  Stow  it,  Morty,"  says  I.  "I'm  wise  to  all 
that.  Besides,  you  ought  to  know  you  can 't  hold 
a  job  and  come  floatin'  in  at  any  old  hour.  No 
wonder  you  got  in  Dutch  with  him !  Say,  is  this 
your  first  stab  at  real  work?  ' 

He  admits  that  it  is,  and  when  I  gets  him  to 
describe  how  he's  been  killin'  time  when  he 


TORCHY  BUGS  THE  SYSTEM   67 

wa'n't  in  college  it  develops  that  one  of  his  prin 
cipal  playthings  has  been  a  six-cylinder  road 
ster, — mile-a-minute  brand,  mostly  engine  and 
gastank,  with  just  space  enough  left  for  the 
driver  to  snuggle  in  among  the  levers  on  the 
small  of  his  back. 

"  I've  had  her  up  to  sixty-five  an  hour  on 
some  of  those  Rhode  Island  oiled  stretches," 
says  Mortimer. 

"  I  expect,"  says  I.  "  And  what  was  it  you 
hit  last?  " 

"Eh?"  says  he.  "Oh,  I  see!  A  milk 
wagon.  Rather  stiff  damages  they  got  out  of 
us,  with  the  hospital  and  doctor's  bills  and  all 
that.  But  it  was  more  the  way  I  was  roasted  by 
the  blamed  newspapers  that  made  Father  so 
sore.  Then  my  being  canned  from  college  soon 
after — well,  that  finished  it.  So  he  sends  Mother 
and  Sis  off  to  Europe,  goes  on  a  business  trip 
to  California  himself,  closes  the  house,  and 
chucks  me  into  this  job." 

"  Kind  of  poor  trainin'  for  it,  I'll  admit," 
says  I.  "  But  buck  up,  Morty;  we'll  do  our 
best." 

"  We?  "  says  he,  liftin'  his  eyebrows. 

' '  Uh-huh, ' '  says  I.    ' '  Me  and  you. ' ' 

"  What's  it  got  to  do  with  you?  I'd  like  to 
know!  "  he  demands. 

"  I've  been  retained,"  says  I.  "  Never  you 
mind  how,  but  I'm  here  to  pass  out  the  friendly 


68  ON  WITH  TOUCHY 

shove,  coach  you  along,  see  that  you  make 
good." 

"  Well,  I  like  your  nerve!  "  says  he,  stop- 
pin'  short  as  we're  crossin'  Broadway.  "  A 
young  mucker  like  you  help  me  make  good! 
Say,  that's  rich,  that  is!  Huh!  But  why  don't 
you?  Come  ahead  with  it,  now,  if  you're  such 
an  expert!  " 

It  was  a  dare,  all  right.  And  for  a  minute 
there  we  looked  each  other  over  scornful,  until 
I  decides  that  I'll  carry  on  the  friend  act  if  I 
have  to  risk  gettin'  my  head  punched. 

"  First  off,  Mortimer,"  says  I,  "  forgettin' 
what  a  great  man  you  are  so  long  as  Father's 
payin'  the  bills,  let's  figure  on  just  what  your 
standin'  is  now.  You're  a  bum  bond  clerk, 
on  the  ragged  edge  of  bein'  fired,  ain't 
you?  " 

He  winces  some  at  that;  but  he  still  has  a 
comeback.  "If  it  wasn't  for  that  bonehead 
Miller,  I'd  get  on,"  he  growls. 

' '  Bah !  ' '  says  I.  ' '  He 's  only  layin '  down  the 
rules  of  the  game;  so  it's  up  to  you  to  fol 
low  'em." 

"  But  he's  unreasonable,"  whines  Mortimer. 
"  He  snoops  around  after  me,  finds  fault  with 
everything  I  do,  and  fines  me  for  being  a  little 
late  mornings." 

I  takes  a  long  breath  and  swallows  hard. 
Next  I  tries  to  strike  the  saintly  pose,  and  then 


TORCHY  BUGS  THE  SYSTEM        69 

I  unreels  the  copybook  dope  just  like  I  believed 
it  myself. 

"  He  does,  eh?  "  says  I.  "  Then  beat  him  to 
it.  Don't  be  late.  Show  up  at  eight- thirty  in 
stead  of  nine.  That  extra  half -hour  ain't  goin* 
to  kill  you.  Be  the  last  to  quit  too.  Play  up 
to  Miller.  Do  things  the  way  he  wants  'em 
done,  even  if  you  have  to  do  'em  over  a  dozen 
times.  And  use  your  bean." 

"  But  it's  petty,  insignificant  work,"  says 
Mortimer. 

"  All  the  worse  for  you  if  you  can't  swing 
it, ' '  says  I.  ' '  See  here,  now — how  are  you  go- 
in'  to  feel  afterwards  if  you've  always  got  to 
look  back  on  the  fact  that  you  begun  by  fallin* 
down  on  a  twelve-dollar  job?  " 

Must  have  got  Mortimer  in  the  short  ribs,  that 
last  shot;  for  he  walks  all  the  rest  of  the  way 
back  to  the  Corrugated  without  sayin'  a  word. 
Then,  just  as  we  gets  into  the  elevator,  he  un 
loosens. 

"  I  don't  believe  it  will  do  any  good  to 
try,"  says  he;  "  but  I've  a  mind  to  give  it  a 
whirl. ' ' 

I  didn't  say  so,  but  that  was  the  first  thing 
we'd  agreed  on  that  day.  So  that  night  I  has  to 
send  off  a  report  which  reads  like  this : 

Mortimer's  health  O.  K.;  disposition  ragged;  business  pros 
pects  punk. 
Hoping  you  are  the  same,  TORCHY. 


70  ON  WITH  TOECHY 

It's  a  wonder  Mortimer  didn't  have  mental 
indigestion,  with  all  that  load  of  gilt-edged  ad 
vice  on  his  mind,  and  I  wa'n't  lookin'  for  him 
to  lug  it  much  further 'n  the  door;  but,  if  you'll 
believe  me,  he  seems  to  take  it  serious.  Every 
mornin'  after  that  I  finds  his  hat  on  the  hook 
when  I  come  in,  and  whenever  I  gets  a  glimpse 
of  him  durin'  the  day  he  has  his  coat  off  and  is 
makin '  a  noise  like  the  busy  bee.  At  this  it  takes 
some  time  before  he  makes  an  impression  on 
Miller;  but  fin'lly  Morty  comes  out  to  me  with  a 
bulletin  that  seems  to  tickle  him  all  over. 

"  What  do  you  know?  "  says  he.  "  When 
Miller  was  looking  over  some  of  my  work  to 
day  he  breaks  out  with,  '  Very  good,  Upton. 
Keep  it  up.'  " 

"  Well,  I  expect  you  told  him  to  chase  him 
self,  eh?  "  says  I. 

'  *  No, ' '  says  Mortimer.  *  *  I  sprung  that  new 
scheme  of  mine  for  filing  the  back  records,  and 
perhaps  he's  going  to  adopt  it." 

"  Think  of  that!  "  says  I.  "  Say,  you  keep 
on,  and  you'll  be  presented  with  that  job  for 
life.  But,  honest,  you  don't  find  Miller  such  a 
fish,  do  you?  " 

"  Oh,  I  guess  he's  all  right  in  his  way,"  says 
Mortimer. 

"  Then  brace  yourself,  Morty,"  says  I, 
"  while  I  slip  you  some  more  golden  words. 
Tackle  that  boardin'  house  bunch  of  yours.  Ah, 


TOUCHY  BUGS  THE  SYSTEM        71 

hold  your  breath  while  you're  doin'  it,  if  you 
want  to,  and  spray  yourself  afterwards  with  dis 
infectant,  but  see  if  you  can't  learn  to  mix  in." 

* '  But  why  1  ' '  says  he.   *  *  I  can 't  see  the  use. '  ' 

"  Say,  for  the  love  of  Pete,"  says  I,  "  ain't 
it  hard  enough  for  me  to  press  out  all  this  wise 
dope  without  drawin'  diagrams'?  I  don't  know 
why,  only  you  should.  Go  on  now,  take  it  from 
me." 

Maybe  it  was  followin'  my  hunch,  or  maybe 
there  wa'n't  anything  else  for  him  to  do,  but 
blamed  if  this  didn't  work  too.  Inside  of  two 
weeks  he  gives  me  the  whole  tale,  one  day  as 
we're  sittin'  in  the  armchairs  at  the  dairy  lunch. 

' '  Eemember  my  telling  you  about  the  fellow 
who  wore  the  outing  shirt?  "  says  he.  "  Well, 
say,  he's  quite  a  chap,  you  know.  He's  from 
some  little  town  out  in  Wyoming,  and  he's  on 
here  trying  to  be  a  cartoonist — runs  a  hoisting 
engine  day  times  and  goes  to  an  art  school  even 
ings.  How's  that,  eh!  " 

"  Sounds  batty,"  says  I.  "  There's  most  as 
many  would-be  cartoonists  as  there  are  nutty 
ones  tryin'  to  write  plays  for  Belasco." 

"  But  this  Blake's  going  to  get  there,"  says 
Mortimer.  "  I  was  up  in  his  room  Sunday,  and 
he  showed  me  some  of  his  work.  Clever  stuff, 
a  lot  of  it.  He's  landed  a  couple  of  things  al 
ready.  Then  there's  old  man  McQuade,  the 
one  with  the  whiskers.  Say,  he's  been  all  over 


72  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

the  world, — Siberia,  Africa,  Japan,  South 
America.  Used  to  be  selling  agent  for  a  mill 
supply  firm.  He  has  all  his  savings  invested  in 
an  Egyptian  cotton  plantation  that  hasn't  be 
gun  to  pay  yet,  but  he  thinks  it  will  soon.  You 
ought  to  hear  the  yarns  he  can  spin,  though!  ': 

11  So-o-o?  "says I. 

"  But  Aronwitz  is  the  fellow  I'm  traveling 
around  with  most  just  now,"  goes  on  Mortimer 
enthusiastic.  "  Say,  he's  a  wonder !  Been  over 
here  from  Hungary  only  six  years,  worked  his 
way  through  Columbia,  copping  an  A.  M.  and 
an  A.  B.,  and  sending  back  money  to  his  old 
mother  right  along.  He's  a  Socialist,  or  some 
thing,  and  writes  for  one  of  those  East  Side 
papers.  Then  evenings  he  teaches  manual 
training  in  a  slum  settlement  house.  He  took 
me  over  with  him  the  other  night  and  got  me 
to  help  him  with  his  boys.  My,  but  they're  a 
bright  lot  of  youngsters — right  off  the  street 
too !  I've  promised  to  take  a  class  myself." 

"  In  what,"  says  I,  "  table  etiquette?  " 

"I'm  going  to  start  by  explaining  to  them 
how  a  gasolene  engine  works,"  says  Mortimer. 
"  They're  crazy  to  learn  anything  like  that.  It 
will  be  great  sport." 

"  Mortimer,"  says  I,  "  a  little  more  of  that, 
and  I'll  believe  you're  the  guy  that  put  the  seed 
in  succeed.  Anyone  wouldn't  guess  you  was 
doin '  penance. " 


TOKCHY  BUGS  THE  SYSTEM   73 

"  I  feel  that  I'm  really  living  at  last,"  says 
he  in  earnest. 

So  in  that  next  report  to  Mother,  after  I'd 
thanked  her  for  the  last  check  and  filled  in 
the  usual  health  chart  and  so  on,  I  proceeds 
to  throw  in  a  few  extras  about  how  Son  was 
makin'  the  great  discovery  that  most  folks  was 
more  or  less  human,  after  all.  Oh,  I  spread 
myself  on  that  part  of  it,  givin'  full  details! 

11  And  if  that  don't  charm  an  extra  five  out 
of  the  old  girl,"  thinks  I,  "  I  miss  my  guess." 

Does  it?  Well,  say,  that  happy  thought  stays 
with  me  for  about  ten  days.  At  times  I  figured 
the  bonus  might  be  as  high  as  a  fifty.  And 
then  one  mornin'  here  comes  a  ruddy-faced  old 
party  that  I  spots  as  Colonel  Upton.  He  calls 
for  Mortimer,  and  the  two  of  'em  has  a  ten- 
minute  chat  in  the  corridor.  Afterwards  Morty 
interviews  Miller,  and  when  he  comes  out  next 
he  has  his  hat  and  overcoat  with  him. 

' '  So  long,  Torchy, ' '  says  he.    "I  'm  leaving. '  > 

"  Not  for  good!"  says  I.  "What's 
wrong?  " 

"  Mother,"  says  he.  "  In  some  way  she's 
found  out  about  the  sort  of  people  I've  been 
going  around  with,  and  she 's  kicked  up  a  great 
row,  got  Father  on  the  cable,  and — well,  it's  all 
off.  I'm  to  travel  abroad  for  a  year  or  so  to 
get  it  out  of  my  system." 

"  Gee!  "  says  I  as  he  goes  out  to  join  the 


74  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

Colonel.  *  *  Talk  about  boobing  a  swell  proposi 
tion!  But  that  was  too  good  to  last,  anyway. 
And,  believe  me,  if  I'm  ever  asked  again  to  be 
friendly  on  a  salary,  I  bet  I  don't  overdo  the 
thing. " 


CHAPTER  V 

BREEZING  BY  WITH  PEGGY 

HE'S  a  great  old  scout,  Mr.  Ellins.  But  he 
always  knows  where  he  wants  to  get  off,  all 
right.  He  don't  whisper  his  ideas  on  the  sub 
ject,  either. 

"  Boy,"  says  he  the  other  mornin'  as  I  an 
swers  the  buzzer,  "  I  am  expecting  two  young 
persons  to  call  this  forenoon,  two  young  wards 
of  mine.  Huh !  Wards !  As  though  I  wasn  't 

busy  enough  with  my  own  affairs  without 

But  never  mind.  Chandler  is  the  name." 

"  Yes,  Sir,"  says  I.  "  Chandler.  Rush  'em 
right  in,  shall  I?  " 

"  No!  "  snorts  Old  Hickory.  "  What  I  want 
you  to  do  is  to  use  a  little  sense,  if  you  have  any. 
Now,  here !  I  have  a  committee  meeting  at  ten ; 
those  K.  &  T.  people  will  be  here  at  ten-forty- 
five;  and  after  that  I  can't  say  whether  I'll  be 
free  or  not.  Of  course  I  must  see  the  young 
nuisances;  but  meantime  I  want  to  forget  'em. 
I  am  trusting  to  you  to  work  'em  in  when  they'll 
be  the  least  bother." 

' '  Got  you, ' '  says  I.  ' '  Chink  in  with  Chand 
lers.  Yes,  Sir.  Anything  more?  " 

75 


76  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

' '  No.    Get  out !  "  he  snaps. 

Fair  imitation  of  a  grouch,  eh?  But  you  got 
to  get  used  to  Old  Hickory.  Besides,  there  was 
some  excuse  for  his  bein'  peeved,  havin'  a  pair 
of  kids  camp  down  on  him  this  way.  Course  I 
was  wise  to  the  other  details.  Didn  't  I  take  their 
'phone  message  to  Mr.  Robert  only  the  day  be 
fore,  and  send  back  the  answer  for  'em  to  come 
on? 

Seems  this  was  a  case  of  a  second  cousin,  or 
something  like  that,  a  nutty  college  professor, 
who'd  gone  and  left  a  will  makin'  Mr.  Ellins  a 
guardian  without  so  much  as  askin'  by  your 
leave.  There  was  a  Mrs.  Chandler;  but  she 
don't  figure  in  the  guardianship.  The  young 
sters  had  been  in  school  somewhere  near  Bos 
ton;  but,  this  bein'  the  holidays,  what  do  they 
do  but  turn  up  in  New  York  and  express  a  wild 
desire  to  see  dear  old  Guardy. 

"  Gee!  "  thinks  I.  "  They  don't  know  when 
they're  well  off." 

For  Old  Hickory  ain't  got  a  lot  of  use  for 
the  average  young  person.  I've  heard  him  ex 
press  his  sentiments  on  that  point.  "  Impu 
dent,  ill-mannered,  selfish,  spoiled  young  bar 
barians,  the  boys,"  says  he,  "  and  the  girls 
aren  't  much  better, — silly,  giggling  young  chat 
terboxes!  " 

And  the  way  I  has  it  framed  up,  this  was 
rather  a  foxy  move  of  the  young  Chandlers,  dis- 


coverin'  their  swell  New  York  relations  just  as 
the  holiday  season  was  openin'.  So  I  don't  fig 
ure  that  the  situation  calls  for  any  open-arm 
motions  on  my  part.  No,  nothin' like  that.  I'm 
here  to  give  'em  their  first  touch  of  frost. 

So  about  eleven-fifteen,  as  I  glances  across 
the  brass  rail  and  sees  this  pair  advancin'  sort 
of  uncertain,  I'm  all  prepared  to  cause  a  drop  in 
the  mercury.  They  wa'n't  exactly  the  type  I 
had  in  mind,  though.  What  I'd  expected  was  a 
brace  of  high  school  cutups.  But  these  two  are 
older  than  that. 

The  young  fellow  was  one  of  these  big-boned, 
wide-shouldered  chaps,  with  a  heavy,  serious 
look  to  his  face,  almost  dull.  I  couldn't  tell  at 
first  look  whether  he  was  a  live  wire  or  not.  No 
such  suspicions  about  the  girl.  She  ain't  what 
you'd  call  a  queen,  exactly.  She's  too  tall  and 
her  face  is  too  long  for  that.  Kind  of  a  cute 
sort  of  face,  though,  with  rather  a  wide  mouth 
that  she  can  twist  into  a  weird,  one-sided  smile. 
But  after  one  look  at  them  lively  blue  eyes  you 
knew  she  wa'n't  walkin'  in  her  sleep.  It's  my 
cue,  though,  to  let  'em  guess  what  nuisances 
they  were. 

'  *  May  I  see  Mr.  Ellins  ?  ' '  says  the  young 
chap. 

"  Cards,"  says  I. 

He  produces  the  pasteboards. 

"  Oh,  yes!  "  I  goes  on.    "  The  wards,  eh? 


78  ON  WITH  TOKCHY 

Marjorie  Chandler,  Dudley  Winthrop  Chandler. 
Well,  you've  picked  out  a  busy  day,  you 
know." 

"  Oh,  have  we?  "  says  Marjorie.  "  There, 
Dud!  I  was  afraid  we  might.  Perhaps  we'd 
better  not  call,  after  all." 

"  Good!  "  says  Dudley.  "  I  didn't  want  to, 
anyway.  WTe  can  just  send  in  our  cards  and 
leave  word  that  we " 

"  Ah,  can  it!  "  says  I.  "  Mr.  Ellins  is  ex- 
pectin  '  you ;  only  he  ain  't  a  man  you  can  walk 
in  on  casual." 

"  But  really,"  puts  in  Marjorie,  "  it's  just 
as  well  if  we  don't  see  him." 

11  Yes,  and  get  me  fired  for  not  carryin'  out 
instructions, ' '  says  I.  * '  My  orders  are  to  work 
you  in  when  there's  a  chance." 

"  Oh,  in  that  case,"  says  Marjorie,  "  perhaps 
we  had  better  wait.  We  don't  wish  to  cause 
trouble  for  anyone,  especially  such  a  bright, 
charming  young " 

"  Nix  on  the  josh,"  says  I.  "  And  have  a 
seat  while  I  skirmish." 

"  Very  well,  then,"  says  she,  screwin'  her 
face  up  cunnin'  and'  handin'  me  one  of  them 
crooked  smiles. 

Say,  she  pretty  near  had  me  go  in'  right  from 
the  start.  And  as  I  tiptoes  into  the  boss's  room 
I  sees  he  ain't  do  in'  anything  more  important 
than  signin'  letters. 


BREEZING  BY  WITH  PEGGY        79 

"  They're  here,"  says  I,  "  the  wards.  Is  it 
all  right  to  run  'em  in  now?  " 

He  grunts,  nods  his  head,  and  keeps  on  writ- 
in'.  So  I  strolls  back  to  the  reception  room. 

11  All  right,"  says  I.  "  I've  fixed  it  up  for 
you." 

"  Now,  wasn't  that  sweet  in  you?  "  gurgles 
Marjorie,  glancin'  sideways  at  Brother.  I 
couldn't  swear  it  was  a  wink,  either;  but  it's 
one  of  them  knowin'  fam'ly  looks,  and  she  fol 
lows  it  up  with  a  ripply  sort  of  a  giggle. 

"  That's  right!  "  says  I.  "  Have  all  the  fun 
you  want  with  me;  but  I'd  warn  you  to  ditch 
the  mirth  stuff  while  you're  on  the  carpet.  Mr. 
Ellins  don't  like  it." 

11  How  interesting!  "  says  Marjorie.  "  Dud 
ley,  I  hope  you  understand.  We  must  ditch  the 
mirth  stuff. ' ' 

They  swaps  another  grin  at  that,  and  I  have 
a  suspicion  I'm  bein'  kidded.  Just  for  that  too 
I  decides  to  stick  around  while  they're  gettin' 
theirs  from  Old  Hickory. 

"  This  way,"  says  I  cold  and  haughty,  as  I 
tows  'em  into  the  private  office. 

Mr.  Ellins  lets  'em  stand  there  a  minute  or 
so  without  sayin'  a  word,  and  then  he  turns  and 
looks  'em  over  deliberate.  "  Humph!  "  he 
grunts.  "  Thought  you  were  younger." 

"  Yes,  Sir,"  says  Marjorie,  "  we — er — we 
were  at  one  time." 


80  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

Old  Hickory  shoots  a  quizzin'  glance  at  her; 
but  there  ain't  the  ghost  of  a  smile  on  her  face. 
"  Huh!  "  says  he.  "  I've  no  doubt.  And  I 
presume  that  in  due  course  you'll  be  older. 
Having  agreed  on  that,  perhaps  you  will  tell  me 
what  you're  doing  in  New  York?  " 

Marjorie  starts  in  to  give  him  the  answer  to 
that;  but  Dudley  shakes  his  head  at  her  and 
takes  the  floor  himself.  "  You  see,  Sir,"  says 
he  real  respectful,  "  Mother's  abroad  this  win 
ter,  and  when  we  were  asked  to  visit  friends 
on  Long  Island  we  thought— 

"  Amy  abroad,  is  she?  "  breaks  in  Mr.  Ellins. 
"  How  does  that  happen?  " 

"  The  Adamses  took  her  with  them  to 
Egypt,"  says  Dudley.  "  They  are  old  friends 
of  ours." 

"  Humph!  "  says  Old  Hickory.  "  Your 
mother  must  be  rather  popular?  " 

"  Oh,  everyone  likes  Mama,"  put  in  Mar 
jorie.  "  She's  asked  around  everywhere." 

"  Yes,  yes,  I've  no  doubt,"  says  he.  "  As  I 
remember  her,  she  was  rather  a — but  we  won't 
go  into  that.  Did  you  come  to  consult  me  about 
anything  in  particular?  " 

"  No  indeed,"  says  Marjorie.  "  But  you've 
been  so  good  to  bother  about  our  affairs,  and 
you've  done  such  wonders  with  the  little  prop 
erty  poor  Dad  left,  that  we  thought,  as  we  were 
so  near,  we  ought  to " 


BBEEZING  BY  WITH  PEGGY        81 

"  We  wanted,"  breaks  in  Dudley,  "  to  call 
and  thank  you  personally  for  your  kindness. 
You  have  been  awfully  kind,  Sir." 

"  Think  so,  do  you?  "  says  Mr.  Ellins. 
"  Well,  is  that  all!  " 

"  Yes,"  says  Marjorie;  "  only — only — oh, 
Dud,  I  'm  going  to  do  it !"  And  with  that  she 
makes  a  rush,  lets  out  a  giggle  or  two,  grabs  Old 
Hickory  in  a  perfectly  good  hug,  and  kisses  him 
twice  on  his  bald  spot. 

He  don't  even  have  a  chance  to  struggle,  and 
before  he  can  get  out  a  word  it 's  all  over  and  she 
has  backed  off,  givin'  him  the  full  benefit  of  one 
of  them  twisty  smiles.  I  was  lookin'  for  him  to 
blow  up  for  fair  at  that.  He  don't  though. 

"  There,  there !  "  says  he.  "  Not  in  the  least 
necessary,  you  know.  But  if  it  was  something 
you  had  to  get  out  of  your  system,  all  right.  So 
you've  been  visiting,  eh?  Now,  what?  " 

"  Why,  Marjorie 's  going  back  to  her  school, 
Sir,"  says  Dudley,  "  and  I  to  college." 

"  Before  the  holidays  are  over?  "  says  Mr. 
Ellins. 

11  Oh,  we  don't  mind,"  says  Marjorie.  "  We 
don't  want  to  go  home  and  open  up  the  house; 
for  we  should  miss  Mother  so  much." 

"  Suppose  you  finish  out  your  vacation  with 
MS,  then?  "  suggests  Old  Hickory. 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  Sir,"  says  Dudley;  "  but 
we " 


82  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

"  Mother  wrote  us,  you  see,"  breaks  in  Mar 
jorie,  "  that  we  mustn't  think  of  bothering  you 
another  bit." 

"  Who  says  you're  a  bother?  "  he  demands. 
* '  At  this  time  of  year  I  like  to  have  young  folks 
around — if  they're  the  right  kind." 

11  But  I'm  not  sure  we  are  the  right  kind," 
says  Marjorie.  "  I — I'm  not  very  serious,  you 
know;  and  Dud's  apt  to  be  noisy.  He  thinks  he 
can  sing." 

At  which  Dudley  gets  fussed  and  Old  Hickory 
chuckles. 

"I'll  take  a  chance,"  says  Mr.  Ellins.  "  If 
I'm  to  be  your  guardian,  I  ought  to  know  you 
better.  So  you  two  trot  right  up  to  the  house 
and  prepare  to  stay  the  week  out.  Here, 
Torchy!  'Phone  for  the  limousine.  No,  not  a 
word,  young  woman!  I  haven't  time  to  discuss 
it.  Clear  out,  both  of  you !  See  you  at  dinner. ' ' 

"  There!  "  says  Marjorie  as  a  partin'  shot. 
"  I  just  knew  you  were  an  old  dear!  " 

"  Stuff!  "  protests  Mr.  Ellins.  "  *  Old  bear/ 
is  more  like  it. ' ' 

And  me,  I  picks  up  a  new  cue.  I  escorts  'em 
out  to  the  gen'ral  office  with  all  the  honors. 
"  I'll  have  that  car  down  in  a  jiffy,  Miss," 
says  I. 

"  Oh,  thank  you,"  says  Marjorie.  "  And  if 
you  think  of  anything  we  ought  to  ditch  in  the 
meantime — " 


BREEZING  BY  WITH  PEGGY        S3- 

"  Ah,  what's  the  use  rubbin'  it  in  on  me," 
says  I,  "  after  the  way  you  put  it  over  Mr. 
Eliins?  I  don't  count.  Besides,  anybody  that 
fields  their  position  like  you  do  has  got  me  wear- 
in'  their  button  for  keeps." 

"  Really?  "  says  she.  "  I  shall  remember 
that,  you  know;  and  there's  no  telling  what 
dreadful  thing  I  may  do  before  I  go.  Is  there, 
Dud?  " 

"  Oh,  quit  it,  Peggy!  "  says  he.  "  Behave, 
can't  you?  " 

"  Certainly,  Brother  dear,"  says  she,  runnin* 
her  tongue  out  at  him.  Ever  see  anyone  who 
could  make  a  cute  play  of  that?  Well,  Marjorie 
could,  believe  me ! 

Funny,  though,  the  sudden  hit  them  two 
seemed  to  make  with  Old  Hickory.  Honest,  the 
few  days  they  was  around  the  house  his  disposi 
tion  clears  up  like  coffee  does  when  you  stir  in 
the  egg.  I  heard  him  talkin'  to  Mr.  Robert 
about  'em,  how  well  brought  up  and  mannerly 
they  was.  He  even  unloads  some  of  it  on  me, 
by  way  of  suggestin'  'em  as  models.  You'd 
most  think  he'd  trained  'em  himself. 

Bein'  chased  up  to  the  house  on  so  many  er 
rands,  I  had  a  chance  to  get  the  benefit  of  some 
of  this  improvin'  influence.  And  it  was  kind  of 
good,  I  admit,  to  watch  how  prompt  Dudley  hops 
up  every  time  any  older  party  comes  into  the 
room;  and  how  sweet  Marjorie  is  to  everybody, 


84  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

even  the  butler.  They  was  just  as  nice  to  each 
other  too, — Brother  helpin'  Sister  on  with  her 
wraps,  and  gettin'  down  on  his  knees  to  put  on 
her  rubbers;  while  Marjorie  never  forgets  to 
thank  him  proper,  and  pat  him  chummy  on  the 
cheek. 

1 1  Gee !  ' '  thinks  I.  "A  sister  like  that  would- 
n't  be  so  bad  to  have  around." 

Course,  I  knew  this  was  comp'ny  manners, 
exhibition  stuff ;  but  all  the  same  it  was  kind  of 
inspirin'  to  see.  It's  catchin'  too.  I  even  finds 
myself  speakin'  gentle  to  Piddie,  and  offerin'  to 
help  Mr.  Ellins  with  his  overcoat. 

All  of  which  lasts  until  here  one  afternoon,  as 
I'm  waitin'  in  the  Ellins'  lib'ry  for  some  pres 
ents  I'm  to  deliver,  when  the  spell  is  shattered. 
I'd  heard  'em  out  in  the  hall,  talkin'  low  and 
earnest,  and  next  thing  I  know  they've  drifted 
in  where  I  am  and  have  opened  up  a  lively 
debate. 

"  Pooh!  "  says  Marjorie.  "  You  can't  stop 
me." 

"  See  here,  Peggy!  "  comes  back  Dudley. 
"  Didn't  Mother  say  I  was  to  look  after  you?  ' 

"  She  didn't  tell  you  to  be  so  everlasting 
bossy,"  says  Sister. 

"I'm  not  bossy,"  comes  back  Dudley. 

"  You  are  so !  "  says  she.  "  Old  fuss  budget! 
Stewcat!  " 

* '  Rattlehead !  ' '  says  Dudley. 


F  •*•<- 


SISTER  HAS  LANDED  A  SMACK  ON  HIS  JAW. 


BREEZING  BY  WITH  PEGGY        85 

1 1  Don 't  mind  me, ' '  I  breaks  in.  "I  'm  havin ' 
my  manners  improved." 

All  that  brings  out,  though,  is  a  glance  and 
a  shoulder  shrug,  and  they  proceed  with  the 
squabble. 

"  Dud  Chandler,"  says  Marjorie  determined, 
' '  I  am  going  to  drive  the  car  today !  You  did 
yesterday  for  an  hour." 

11  That's  entirely  different,"  says  Dudley. 
"I'm  used  to  it,  and  Henry  said  I  might." 

"  And  Henry  says  I  may  too — so  there!  " 
says  Marjorie.  "  And  you  know  I'm  just  crazy 
to  try  it  on  Fifth  Avenue. ' ' 

"  You'd  look  nice,  wouldn't  you?  "  says 
Brother  scornful.  "  A  limousine!  " 

"  But  Bud  Adams  let  me  drive  theirs;  in 
Boston  too,"  protests  Marjorie. 

"  Bud  Adams  is  a  bonehead,  then,"  says 
Dudley. 

"  Dudley  Chandler,"  snaps  Sister,  her  eyes 
throwin'  off  sparks,  "  don't  you  dare  talk  that 
way  about  my  friends !  ' ' 

"  Huh!  "  says  Brother.  "  If  there  ever  was 
a  boob,  that  Bud  Adams  is " 

Say,  there's  only  a  flash  and  a  squeal  before 
Sister  has  landed  a  smack  on  his  jaw  and  has 
both  hands  in  his  hair.  Looked  like  a  real  rough- 
house  session,  right  there  in  the  lib'ry,  when 
there  comes  a  call  for  me  down  the  stairs  from 
Mrs.  Ellins.  She  wants  to  know  if  I'm  ready. 


86  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

"  Waitin'  here,  Ma'am,"  says  I,  steppin'  out 
into  the  hall. 

"  And  Marjorie  and  Dudley?  "  says  she. 
"  Are  the  dear  young  folks  ready  too?  ' 

11  I'll  ask  'em,"  says  I.  And  with  that  I 
dodges  back  where  they're  standin'  glarin'  at 
each  other.  "  Well,"  says  I,  "  is  it  to  be  a  go 
to  a  finish,  or " 

"  Come,  Marjorie,"  says  Dudley,  "  be  de 
cent." 

11  I — am  going  to  do  it!  "  announces  Mar 
jorie. 

' '  Mule !  ' '  hisses  Dudley. 

And  that's  the  status  quo  between  these  two 
models  when  we  starts  for  the  car.  Marjorie 
makes  a  quick  break  and  plants  herself  in  front 
by  the  chauffeur,  leavin'  Brother  to  climb  in 
side  with  me  and  the  bundles.  He  grits  his 
teeth  and  murmurs  a  few  remarks  under  his 
breath. 

11  Some  pep  to  that  sister  of  yours,  eh?  ' 
says  I. 

' '  She 's  an  obstinate  little  fool !  ' '  says  Dud 
ley.  ' '  Look  at  that,  now !  I  knew  she  would !  ' 

Yep,  she  had.  We're  no  sooner  under  way 
than  the  obligin'  Henry  slides  out  of  his  seat 
and  lets  Miss  Marjorie  slip  in  behind  the  wheel. 
She  can  drive  a  car  all  right  too.  You  ought 
to  see  her  throw  in  the  high  and  go  beatin'  it 
down  the  avenue,  takin'  signals  from  the  traffic 


BREEZING  BY  WITH  PEGGY        87 

cops  at  crossings,  skinnin'  around  motor  busses, 
and  crowdin'  out  a  fresh  taxi  driver  that  tried 
to  hog  a  corner  on  her.  Nothin'  timid  or  ama 
teurish  either  about  the  way  she  handled  that 
ten-thousand-dollar  gas  wagon  of  Old  Hick 
ory's.  Where  I'd  be  jammin'  on  both  brakes 
and  callin'  for  help,  she  just  breezes  along  like 
she  had  the  street  all  to  herself. 

Meantime  Brother  is  sittin'  with  both  feet 
braced  and  one  hand  on  the  door,  now  and  then 
sighin'  relieved  as  we  scrape  through  a  tight 
place.  But  we'd  been  down  quite  a  ways  and 
was  part  way  back,  headed  for  Riverside  Drive, 
and  was  rollin'  along  merry  too,  when  all  of  a 
sudden  a  fruit  faker's  wagon  looms  up  out  of 
a  side  street  unexpected,  there's  a  bump  and  a 
crash,  and  there  we  are,  with  a  spokeless  wooden 
wheel  draped  jaunty  over  one  mud  guard,  the 
asphalt  strewed  with  oranges,  and  int 'rested 
spectators  gatherin'  gleeful  from  all  quarters. 

Looks  like  a  bad  mess  too.  The  old  plug  of 
a  horse  is  down,  kickin'  the  stuffin'  out  of  the 
harness,  and  a  few  feet  off  is  the  huckster,  hud 
dled  up  in  a  heap  like  a  bag  of  meal.  Course, 
there 's  a  cop  on  the  spot.  He  pushes  in  where 
Dudley  is  tryin'  to  help  the  wagon  driver  up, 
takes  one  look  at  the  wreck,  and  then  flashes 
his  little  notebook.  He  puts  down  our  license 
number,  calls  for  the  owner's  name,  prods  the 
wagon  man  without  result,  tells  us  we're  all 


88  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

pinched,  and  steps  over  to  a  convenient  signal 
box  to  ring  np  an  ambulance.  Inside  of  three 
minutes  we're  the  storm  center  of  a  small  mob, 
and  there's  two  other  cops  lookin'  us  over  dis- 
approvin '. 

"  Take  'em  all  to  the  station  house,"  says 
one,  who  happens  to  be  a  roundsman. 

That  didn't  listen  good  to  me;  so  I  kind  of 
sidles  off  from  our  group.  It  just  struck  me 
that  it  might  be  handy  to  have  someone  on  the 
outside  lookin'  in.  But  at  that  I  got  to  the 
station  house  almost  as  soon  as  they  did.  The 
trio  was  lined  up  before  the  desk  Sergeant. 
Miss  Marjorie's  kind  of  white,  but  keepin'  a 
stiff  lip  over  it ;  while  Dudley  is  holdin '  one  hand 
and  pattin'  it  comfortin'. 

"  Well,  who  was  driving?  "  is  the  first  thing 
the  Sergeant  wants  to  know. 

"  If  you  please,  Sir,"  speaks  up  Dudley,  "  I 
was." 

11  Why,  Dudley!  "  says  Peggy,  openin'  her 
eyes  wide.  ' '  You  know 

"  Hush  up!  "  whispers  Brother. 

"  Sha'n't!  "  says  Marjorie.  "  I  was  driving, 
Mr.  Officer." 

1 '  Rot !  ' '  says  Dudley.  ' '  Pay  no  attention  to 
her,  Sergeant." 

"  Suit  yourself,"  says  the  Sergeant.  "  I'd 
just  as  soon  lock  up  two  as  one.  Then  we'll 
be  sure." 


BREEZING  BY  WITH  PEGGY        89 

"  There!  You  see!  "  says  Brother.  "  You 
aren't  helping  any.  Now  keep  out,  will  you?  ' 

"  But,  Dudley "  protests  Marjorie. 

"  That'll  do,"  says  the  Sergeant.  "  You'll 
have  plenty  of  time  to  talk  it  over  afterwards. 
Hospital  case,  eh?  Then  we  can't  take  bail. 
Names,  now!  " 

And  it's  while  their  names  are  bein'  put  on 
the  blotter  that  I  slides  out,  hunts  up  a  pay  sta 
tion,  and  gets  Mr.  Robert  on  the  'phone.  ' '  Bet 
ter  lug  along  a  good-sized  roll,"  says  I,  after 
I've  explained  the  case,  "  and  start  a  lawyer 
or  two  this  way.  You'll  need  'em." 

"  I  will,"  says  Mr.  Robert.  "  And  you'll 
meet  me  at  the  station,  will  you?  ' 

' '  Later  on, ' '  says  I.  "I  want  to  try  a  little 
sleuthin'  first." 

You  see,  I'd  spotted  the  faker's  name  on  the 
wagon  license,  and  it  occurs  to  me  that  before 
any  of  them  damage-suit  shysters  get  to  him  it 
would  be  a  good  scheme  to  discover  just  how 
bad  he  was  bunged  up.  So  my  bluff  is  that  it's 
an  uncle  of  mine  that's  been  hurt.  By  pushin* 
it  good  and  hard  too,  and  insistin'  that  I'd  got 
to  see  him,  I  gets  clear  into  the  cot  without  bein* 
held  up.  And  there 's  the  victim,  snoozin '  peace 
ful. 

"  Gee!  "  says  I  to  the  nurse,  sniffin'  the  at 
mosphere.  * '  Had  to  brace  him  up  with  a  drink, 
did  you?  " 


90  ON  WITH  TOECHY 

She  smiles  at  that.  "  Hardly,"  says  she. 
* l  He  had  attended  to  that,  or  he  wouldn  't  be  in 
here.  This  is  the  alcoholic  ward,  you  know." 

"  Huh!  "  says  I.  "  Pickled,  was  he?  But  is 
he  hurt  bad?  " 

"  Not  at  all,"  says  she.  "  He  will  be  all 
right  as  soon  as  he's  sober." 

Did  I  smoke  it  back  to  the  station  house? 
Well,  some !  And  Mr.  Robert  was  there,  talkin' 
to  two  volunteer  witnesses  who  was  ready  to 
swear  the  faker  was  drivin'  on  the  wrong  side 
of  the  street  and  not  lookin'  where  he  was  goin'. 

11  How  could  he,"  says  I,  "  when  he  was 
soused  to  the  ears?  " 

Course,  it  took  some  time  to  convince  the 
Sergeant;  but  after  he'd  had  word  from  the 
hospital  he  concludes  to  accept  a  hundred  cash, 
let  Dudley  go  until  mornin',  and  scratch  Mar- 
jorie's  name  off  the  book.  Goin'  back  to  the 
house  we  four  rides  inside,  with  Henry  at  the 
wheel. 

"I'm  awfully  sorry,  Dud,"  says  Marjorie, 
snugglin'  up  to  Brother,  "  but — but  it  was  al 
most  worth  it.  I  didn't  know  you  could  be  so — 
so  splendid!  " 

' '  Stow  it,  Peggy, ' '  says  Dudley.  *  *  You  're  a 
regular  brick !  ' ' 

"  No,  I'm  not,"  says  she.  "  And  think  what 
Mr.  Ellins  will  say ! 

"  There,  there!  "  says  Mr.  Eobert  soothin'. 


BREEZING  BY  WITH  PEGGY        91 

"  You  were  not  to  blame.  I  will  have  someone 
see  the  fellow  in  the  morning  and  settle  the  dam 
age,  however.  There's  no  need  to  trouble 
Father  about  it,  none  in  the  least." 

"  Besides,  Peggy,"  adds  Dudley,  "  I'm  the 
one  the  charge  is  made  against.  So  butt  out." 

Looked  like  it  was  all  settled  that  way  too,  and 
that  Old  Hickory's  faith  in  his  model  wards 
wa'n't  to  be  disturbed.  But  when  we  pulls  up 
at  the  house  there  he  is,  just  goin'  up  the  front 
steps. 

"  Ah!  "  says  he,  beamin'.  "  There  you  are, 
eh?  And  how  has  my  little  Peggy  been  enjoying 
herself  today?  " 

"  Mr.  Ellins,"  says  she,  lookin'  him  square  in 
the  eye,  "  you  mustn't  call  me  your  Peggy  any 
more.  I've  just  hit  a  man.  He's  in  the  hos 
pital." 

"  You — you  hit  someone!  "  gasps  Old  Hick 
ory,  starin'  puzzled  at  her.  "  What  with?  " 

"  Why,  with  the  car,"  says  she.  "  I  was 
driving.  Dudley  tried  to  stop  me;  but  I  was 
horrid  about  it.  We  had  a  regular  fight  over 
it.  Then  I  coaxed  Henry  to  let  me,  and — and 
this  happened.  Don't  listen  to  Dudley.  It  was 
all  my  fault." 

* '  Wow !  "  I  whispers  to  Mr.  Robert.  ' '  Now 
she's  spilled  the  beans!  " 

Did  she?  Say,  I  wa'n't  in  on  the  fam'ly  con 
ference  that  follows,  but  I  gets  the  result  from 


92  ON  WITH  TOUCHY 

Mr.  Eobert  next  day,  after  he's  been  to  court 
and  seen  Dudley's  case  dismissed. 

"No,  the  young  folks  haven't  been  sent 
away,"  says  he.  "  In  fact,  Father  thinks  more 
of  them  than  ever.  He's  going  to  take  'em 
both  abroad  with  him  next  summer. ' ' 

Wouldn't  that  smear  you,  though?  Say,  I 
wish  someone  would  turn  me  loose  with  a 
limousine ! 


CHAPTER  VI 

GLOOM  SHUNTING  FOB  THE  BOSS 

TBOUBLE?  Say,  it  was  conrin'  seven  different 
ways  there  for  awhile, — our  stocks  on  the  slump, 
a  quarterly  bein'  passed,  Congress  actin'  up,  a 
lot  of  gloom  rumors  floatin'  around  about  what 
was  goin'  to  happen  to  the  tariff  on  steel,  and 
the  I  Won't  Workers  pullin'  oif  a  big  strike 
at  one  of  our  busiest  plants.  But  all  these  things 
was  side  issues  compared  to  this  scrap  that  de 
velops  between  Old  Hickory  and  Peter  K.  Groff . 

Maybe  you  don 't  know  about  Peter  K.  ?  Well, 
he 's  the  Mesaba  agent  of  Corrugated  aff airs,  the 
big  noise  at  the  dirt  end  of  the  dividends.  It 's 
Groff  handles  the  ore  proposition,  you  under 
stand,  and  it 's  his  company  that  does  the  inter 
locking  act  between  the  ore  mines  and  us  and 
the  railroads. 

Course,  I  can't  give  you  all  the  details  with 
out  pullin'  down  a  subpoena  from  the  Attorney- 
General's  office,  and  I  ain't  anxious  to  crowd 
Willie  Rockefeller,  or  anybody  like  that,  out  of 
the  witness  chair.  But  I  can  go  as  far  as  to 
state  that,  as  near  as  I  could  dope  it  out,  Peter 

93 


94  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

K.  was  only  standin'  on  his  rights,  and  if  only 
him  and  Mr.  Ellins  could  have  got  together  for 
half  an  hour  peaceable-like  things  could  have 
been  squared  all  around.  We  needed  Groff 
every  tick  of  the  clock,  and  just  because  he  ain't 
always  polite  in  statin'  his  views  over  the  wire 
wa'n't  any  first-class  reason  for  us  extendin' 
him  an  official  invitation  to  go  sew  his  head  in 
a  bag. 

Uh-huh,  them  was  Old  Hickory's  very  words. 
I  stood  by  while  he  writes  the  message.  Then 
I  takes  it  out  and  shows  it  to  Piddie  and  grins. 
You  should  have  seen  Piddie 's  face.  He  turns 
the  color  of  green  pea  soup  and  gasps.  He's 
got  all  the  fightin'  qualities  of  a  pet  rabbit  in 
him,  Piddie  has. 

11  But — but  that  is  a  flat  insult,"  says  he, 
"  and  Mr.  Groff  is  a  very  irascible  person!  " 

11  A  which!  "  says  I.  "  Never  mind,  though. 
If  he's  got  anything  on  Old  Hickory  when  it 
comes  to  pep  in  the  disposition,  he's  the  real 
Tabasco  Tommy." 

"But  I  still  contend,"  says  Piddie,  "  that 
this  reply  should  not  be  sent. ' ' 

11  Course  it  shouldn't,"  says  I.  "  But  who's 
goin'  to  point  that  out  to  the  boss?  You?  ' 

Piddie  shudders.  I'll  bet  he  went  home  that 
night  and  told  Wifey  to  prepare  for  the  end  of 
the  world.  Course,  I  knew  it  meant  a  muss. 
But  when  Old  Hickory's  been  limpin'  around 


GLOOM  SHUNTING  FOB  THE  BOSS     95 

with  a  gouty  toe  for  two  weeks,  and  his  diges 
tion's  gone  on  the  fritz,  and  things  in  gen'ral 
has  been  breakin'  bad — well,  it's  a  case  of  low 
barometer  in  our  shop,  and  waitin'  to  see  where 
the  lightnin'  strikes  first.  Might's  well  be 
pointed  at  Peter  K.,  thinks  I,  as  at  some 
Wall  Street  magnate  or  me.  Course,  Groff 
goes  up  in  the  air  a  mile,  threatens  to  resign 
from  the  board,  and  starts  stirrin'  up  a  minority 
move  that's  liable  to  end  most  anywhere. 

Then,  right  in  the  midst  of  it,  Old  Hickory 
accumulates  his  annual  case  of  grip,  runs  up  a 
temperature  that  ain't  got  anything  to  do  with 
his  disposition,  and  his  doctor  gives  orders  for 
him  not  to  move  out  of  the  house  for  a  week. 

So  that  throws  the  whole  thing  onto  me  and 
Mr.  Eobert.  I  was  takin'  it  calm  enough  too; 
but  with  Mr.  Eobert  it's  diff'rent.  He  has  his 
coat  off  that  mornin',  and  his  hair  mussed  up, 
and  he's  smokin'  long  brunette  cigars  instead 
of  his  usual  cigarettes.  He  was  pawin'  over 
things  panicky. 

"Hang  it  all!"  he  explodes.  "  Some  of 
these  papers  must  go  up  to  the  Governor  for 
his  indorsement.  Perhaps  you'd  better  take 
them,  Torchy.  But  you're  not  likely  to  find  him 
in  a  very  agreeable  mood,  you  know." 

"  Oh,  I  can  dodge,"  says  I,  gatherin'  up  the 
stuff.  "And  what's  the  dope?  Do  I  dump 
these  on  the  bed  and  make  a  slide  for  life,  or 


96  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

do  I  take  out  accident  insurance  and  then  stick 
around  for  orders  t  ' ' 

11  You  may — er — stick  around,"  says  Mr. 
Eobert.  "  In  fact,  my  chief  reason  for  sending 
you  up  to  the  house  is  the  fact  that  at  times 
you  are  apt  to  have  a  cheering  effect  on  the 
Governor.  So  stay  as  long  as  you  find  any 
excuse. ' ' 

"  Gee!  "  says  I.  "  I  don't  know  whether 
this  is  a  special  holiday,  or  a  sentence  to  sudden 
death.  But  I'll  take  a  chance,  and  if  the  worst 
happens,  Mr.  Robert,  see  that  Piddie  wears  a 
black  armband  for  me." 

He  indulges  in  the  first  grin  he's  had  on  for 
a  week,  and  I  makes  my  exit  on  that.  The  sci 
ence  of  bein'  fresh  is  to  know  where  to  quit. 

But,  say,  that  wa'n't  all  guff  we  was  ex- 
changin'  about  Old  Hickory.  I  don't  find  him 
tucked  away  under  the  down  comf 'tables,  like 
he  ought  to  be.  Marston,  the  butler,  whispers 
the  boss  is  in  the  lib'ry,  and  sort  of  shunts  me 
in  without  appearin'  himself.  A  wise  guy, 
Marston. 

For  here's  Mr.  Ellins,  wearin'  a  padded  silk 
dressin'  gown  and  old  slippers,  pacin'  back  and 
forth  limpy  and  lettin'  out  grunts  and  growls 
at  every  turn.  Talk  about  your  double-distilled 
grouches!  He  looks  like  he'd  been  on  a  diet 
of  mixed  pickles  and  scrap  iron  for  a  month,  and 
hated  the  whole  human  race. 


GLOOM  SHUNTING  FOB  THE  BOSS     97 

"  Well?  "  he  snaps  as  he  sees  me  edgin*  in 
cautious. 

"  Papers  for  your  0.  K.,"  says  I,  holdin'  the 
bunch  out  at  arm's  length. 

1 1  My  0.  K.  1  "  he  snarls.  ' '  Bah !  Now  what 
the  zebra-striped  Zacharias  do  they  send  those 
things  to  me  for?  What  good  am  I,  anyway, 
except  as  a  common  carrier  for  all  the  blinkety 
blinked  aches  and  pains  that  ever  existed?  A 
shivery,  shaky  old  lump  of  clay  streaked  with 
cussedness,  that's  all  I  am!  " 

"  Yes,  Sir,"  says  I,  from  force  of  habit. 

"  Eh?  "  says  he,  whirlin'  and  snappin'  his 
jaws. 

"  N-n-no,  Sir,"  says  I,  sidesteppin'  behind  a 
chair. 

"  That's  right,"  says  he.  "  Dodge  and 
squirm  as  if  I  was  a  wild  animal.  That's  what 
they  all  do.  What  are  you  afraid  of,  Boy?  " 

"  Me?  "  says  I.  "  Why,  I'm  havin'  the  time 
of  my  life.  I  don't  mind.  It  only  sounds  natu 
ral  and  homelike.  And  it's  mostly  bluff,  ain't 
it,  Mr.  Ellins?  " 

"  Discovered!  "  says  he.  "  Ah,  the  merci 
less  perspicacity  of  youth!  But  don't  tell 
the  others.  And  put  those  papers  on  my 
desk." 

"  Yes,  Sir,"  says  I,  and  after  I've  spread 
'em  out  I  backs  into  the  bay  window  and  sits 
down. 


98  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

"  Well,  what  are  you  doing  there!  "  says  he. 

"  Waiting  orders,"  says  I.  "  Any  errands, 
Mr.  Ellins?  " 

"  Errands?  "  says  he.  Then,  after  thinkin' 
a  second,  he  raps  out,  "  Yes.  Do  you  see  that 
collection  of  bottles  and  pills  and  glasses  on  the 
table?  Enough  to  stock  a  young  drugstore! 
And  I've  been  pouring  that  truck  into  my  sys 
tem  by  wholesale, — the  pink  tablets  on  the  half- 
hour,  the  white  ones  on  the  quarter,  a  spoonful 
of  that  purple  liquid  on  the  even  hour,  two  of 
the  greenish  mixtures  on  the  odd,  and  getting 
worse  every  day.  Bah!  I  haven't  the  courage 
to  do  it  myself,  but  by  the  blue-belted  blazes 

if See  here,  Boy!    You're  waiting  orders, 

you  say?  " 

"Uh-huh!  "  says  I. 

"  Then  open  that  window  and  throw  the  whole 
lot  into  the  areaway,"  says  he. 

"  Do  you  mean  it,  Mr.  Ellins?  "  says  I. 

11  Do  I — yah,  don't  I  speak  plain  English?  " 
he  growls.  "  Can't  you  understand  a  sim 
ple " 

"  I  got  you,"  I  breaks  in.    "  Out  it  goes!  ' 
I  don't  drop  any  of  it  gentle,  either.    I  slams 
bottles  and  glasses  down  on  the  flaggin'  and 
chucks  the  pills  into  the  next  yard.    I  makes 
a  clean  sweep. 

11  Thanks,  Torchy,"  says  he.  "  The  doctor 
will  be  here  soon.  I  '11  tell  him  you  did  it. ' ' 


GLOOM  SHUNTING  FOE  THE  BOSS     99 

11  Go  as  far  as  you  like,"  says  I.  "  Anything 
else,  Sir?  " 

"  Yes,"  says  he.  "  Provide  me  with  a  tem 
porary  occupation." 

"  Come  again,"  says  I. 

"  I  want  something  to  do,"  says  he.  "  Here 
I've  been  shut  up  in  this  confounded  house  for 
four  mortal  days !  I  can't  read,  can't  eat,  can't 
sleep.  I  just  prowl  around  like  a  bear  with  a 
sore  ear.  I  want  something  that  will  make  me 
forget  what  a  wretched,  futile  old  fool  I  am. 
Do  you  know  of  anything  that  will  fill  the  bill?  " 

"  No,  sir,"  says  I. 

11  Then  think,"  says  he.  "  Come,  where  is 
that  quick-firing,  automatic  intellect  of  yours? 
Think,  Boy!  What  would  you  do  if  you  were 
shut  up  like  this?  " 

"  Why,"  says  I,  "  I — I  might  dig  up  some 
kind  of  games,  I  guess." 

"  Games!  "  says  he.  "  That's  worth  con 
sidering.  Well,  here's  some  money.  Go  get 
'em." 

"  But  what  kind,  Sir?  "  says  I. 

' '  How  the  slithering  Sisyphus  should  I  know 
what  kind?  "  he  snaps.  "  Whose  idea  is  this, 
anyway?  You  suggested  games.  Go  get  'em,  I 
tell  you!  I'll  give  you  half  an  hour,  while  I'm 
looking  over  this  stuff  from  the  office.  Just  half 
an  hour.  Get  out !  ' ' 

It's  a  perfectly  cute  proposition,  ain't  it? 


100  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

Games  for  a  heavy-podded  old  sinner  like  him, 
who's  about  as  frivolous  in  his  habits  as  one  of 
them  stone  lions  in  front  of  the  new  city  lib'ry! 
But  here  I  was  on  my  way  with  a  yellow-backed 
twenty  in  one  hand;  so  it's  up  to  me  to  produce. 
I  pikes  straight  down  the  avenue  to  a  joint 
where  they've  got  three  floors  filled  with  nothin' 
but  juvenile  joy  junk,  blows  in  there  on  the 
jump,  nails  a  clerk  that  looks  like  he  had  more 
or  less  bean,  waves  the  twenty  at  him,  and  re 
marks  casual: 

"  Gimme  the  worth  of  that  in  things  that'll 
amuse  a  fifty-eight-year-old  kid  who's  sick  abed 
and  walkin'  around  the  house." 

Did  I  say  clerk  f  I  take  it  back.  He  was  a 
salesman,  that  young  gent  was.  Never  raised 
an  eyebrow,  but  proceeded  to  haul  out  samples, 
pass  'em  up  to  me  for  inspection,  and  pile  in  a 
heap  what  I  gives  him  the  nod  on.  If  I  estab 
lished  a  record  for  reckless  buyin',  he  never 
mentions  it.  Inside  of  twenty  minutes  I'm  on 
my  way  back,  followed  by  a  porter  with  both 
arms  full. 

"  The  doctor  has  come,"  says  Marston. 
"He's  in  with  Mr.  Ellins  now,  Sir." 

"  Oh,  is  he?  "  says  I.  "  Makes  it  very  nice, 
don't  it?  "  And,  bein'  as  how  I  was  Old  Hick 
ory's  alibi,  as  you  might  say,  I  pikes  right  to 
the  front. 

"  Here  he  is  now,"  says  Mr.  Ellins. 


GLOOM  SHUNTING  FOE  THE  BOSS    101 

And  the  Doc,  who's  a  chesty,  short-legged 
gent  with  a  dome  half  under  glass, — you  know, 
sort  of  a  skinned  diamond  with  turf  outfield 
effect, — he  whirls  on  me  accusin'.  "  Young 
man,"  says  he,  "  do  I  understand  that  you  had 
the  impudence  to " 

"  Well,  well!  "  breaks  in  Old  Hickory,  get- 
tin'  a  glimpse  of  what  the  porter's  unloadin'. 
"  What  have  we  here?  Look,  Hirshway, — • 
Torchy's  drug  substitute!  ' 

"  Eh?  "  says  the  Doc,  starin'  puzzled. 

"  Games,"  says  Mr.  Ellins,  startin'  to  paw 
over  the  bundles.  "  Toys  for  a  weary  toiler. 
Let's  inspect  his  selection.  Now  what's  this  in 
the  box,  Torchy?  " 

"  Cut -up  picture  puzzle,"  says  I.  "  Two 
hundred  pieces.  You  fit  'em  together." 

"  Fine!  "  says  Old  Hickory.    "  And  this?  " 

11  Eing  toss,"  says  I.  "  You  try  to  throw 
them  rope  rings  over  the  peg." 

"  I  see,"  says  he.  ll  Excellent!  That  will 
be  very  amusing  and  instructive.  Here's  an 
airgun  too." 

"  Ellins,"  says  Doc  Hirshway,  "  do  you  mean 
to  say  that  at  your  age  you  are  going  to  play 
with  such  childish  things?  ' 

"  Why  not?  "  says  Old  Hickory.  "  You  for 
bid  business.  I  must  employ  myself  in  some 
way,  and  Torchy  recommends  these." 

Bah !  ' '  says  the  Doc  disgusted.    "  If  I  did- 


<  ( 


102  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

n't  know  you  so  well,  I  should  think  your  mind 
was  affected." 

"  Think  what  you  blamed  please,  you  bald- 
headed  old  pill  peddler!  "  raps  back  the  boss, 
pokin'  him  playful  in  the  ribs.  "  I'll  bet  you  a 
fiver  I  can  put  more  of  these  rings  over  than 
you  can." 

"  Humph!  "  says  the  Doc.  "  I've  no  time 
to  waste  on  silly  games."  And  he  stands  by 
watchin'  disapprovin'  while  Old  Hickory  makes 
an  awkward  stab  at  the  peg.  The  nearest  he 
comes  to  it  is  when  he  chucks  one  through  the 
glass  door  of  a  curio  cabinet,  with  a  smash  that 
brings  the  butler  tiptoein'  in. 

"  Did  you  ring,  Sir!  "  says  Marston. 

11  Not  a  blamed  one!  '  says  Mr.  Ellins. 
"  Take  it  away,  Marston.  And  then  unwrap 
that  large  package.  There !  Now  what  the  tes 
sellated  teacups  is  that!  >: 

It's  something  I  didn't  know  anything  about 
myself ;  but  the  young  gent  at  the  store  had  been 
strong  for  puttin'  it  in,  so  I'd  let  it  slide.  It's 
a  tin  affair,  painted  bright  green,  with  half  a 
dozen  little  brass  cups  sunk  in  it.  Some  rubber 
balls  and  a  kind  of  croquet  mallet  goes  with  it. 

"  Indoor  golf!  "  says  Old  Hickory,  readin' 
the  instruction  pamphlet.  "  Oh,  I  see !  A  put 
ting  green.  Set  it  there  on  the  rug,  Marston. 
Now,  let's  see  if  I've  forgotten  how  to  putt." 

We  all  gathers  around  while  he  tries  to  roll 


GLOOM  SHUNTING  FOR  THE  BOSS   103 

the  balls  into  the  cups.  Out  of  six  tries  he  lands 
just  one.  Next  time  he  don't  get  any  at  all. 

11  Pooh!  "  says  the  Doc  edgin'  up  int 'rested. 
' l  Wretched  putting  form,  Ellins,  wretched ! 
Don't  tap  it  that  way:  sweep  it  along — follow 
through,  with  your  right  elbow  out.  Here,  let 
me  show  you!  ' 

But  Hirshway  don't  do  much  better.  He 
manages  to  get  two  in;  but  one  was  a  rank 
scratch. 

"  Ho-ho!  "  cackles  Old  Hickory.  "  Isn't  so 
easy  as  it  looks,  eh,  Hirshway?  Now  it's  my 
turn  again,  and  I'm  betting  ten  I  beat  you." 

"  I  take  you,"  says  the  Doc. 

And  blamed  if  Old  Hickory  don't  pull  down 
the  money! 

Well,  that's  what  started  things.  Next  I 
knew  they'd  laid  out  a  reg'lar  golf  course,  driv- 
in'  off  from  the  rug  in  front  of  the  desk,  through 
the  double  doors  into  the  drawin'  room,  then 
across  the  hall  into  the  music  room,  around  the 
grand  piano  to  the  left,  through  the  back  hall, 
into  the  lib'ry  once  more,  and  onto  the  tin 
green. 

Marston  is  sent  to  dig  out  a  couple  sets  of 
old  golf  clubs  from  the  attic,  and  he  is  put  to 
caddyin'  for  the  Doc,  while  I  carries  the  bag  for 
the  boss.  Course  they  was  usin'  putters  mostly, 
except  for  fancy  loftin'  strokes  over  bunkers 
that  they'd  built  out  of  books  and  sofa  pillows. 


104  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

And  as  the  balls  was  softer  than  the  regulation 
golf  kind,  with  more  bounce  to  'em,  all  sorts  of 
carom  strokes  was  ruled  in. 

"  No  moving  the  chairs,"  announces  Old 
Hickory.  "  All  pieces  of  furniture  are  natural 
hazards," 

"  Agreed,"  says  the  Doc.  "  Playing  stimies 
too,  I  suppose?  " 

11  Stimies  go,"  says  the  boss. 

Say,  maybe  that  wa'n't  some  batty  perform 
ance,  with  them  two  old  duffers  golfin'  all  over 
the  first  floor  of  a  Fifth-ave.  house,  disputin' 
about  strokes,  pokin'  balls  out  from  under  tables 
and  sofas,  and  me  and  Marston  followin'  along 
with  the  bags.  They  got  as  excited  over  it  as  if 
they'd  been  playin'  for  the  International  Cham 
pionship,  and  when  Old  Hickory  loses  four 
strokes  by  gettin'  his  ball  wedged  in  a  corner 
he  cuts  loose  with  the  real  golfy  language. 

We  was  just  finishin'  the  first  round,  with  the 
score  standin'  fourteen  to  seventeen  in  favor 
of  the  Doc,  when  the  front  doorbell  rings  and 
a  maid  comes  towin'  in  Piddie.  Maybe  his  eyes 
don't  stick  out  some  too,  as  he  takes  in  the  scene, 
But  Mr.  Ellins  is  preparin'  to  make  a  shot  for 
position  in  front  of  the  green  and  he  don't  pay 
any  attention. 

11  It's  Mr.  Piddie,  Sir,"  says  I. 

"  Hang  Mr.  Piddie !  "  says  Old  Hickory.  "  I 
can't  see  him  now." 


GLOOM  SHUNTING  FOE  THE  BOSS   105 

"  But  it's  very  important,"  says  Piddie. 
"  There's  someone  at  the  office  who " 

"  No,  no,  not  now!  "  snaps  the  boss  impa 
tient. 

And  I  gives  Piddie  the  back-out  signal.  But 
you  know  how  much  sense  he 's  got. 

"  I  assure  you,  Mr.  Ellins,"  he  goes  on,  "  that 
this  is " 

"  S-s-s-st!  "  says  I.  "  Boom-boom!  Out 
side  !  ' '  and  I  jerks  my  thumb  towards  the  door. 

That  settles  Piddie.    He  fades. 

A  minute  later  Old  Hickory  gets  a  lucky 
carom  off  a  chair  leg  and  holes  out  in  nineteen, 
with  the  Doc  playin'  twenty-one. 

"  Ha,  ha !  "  chuckled  the  boss.  "  What's  the 
matter  with  my  form  now,  Hirshway?  I'll  go 
you  another  hole  for  the  same  stake." 

The  Doc  was  sore  and  eager  to  get  back. 
They  wa'n't  much  more'n  fairly  started, 
though,  before  there's  other  arrivals,  that  turns 
out  to  be  no  less  than  two  of  our  directors,  look- 
in'  serious  and  worried. 

"  Mr.  Rawson  and  Mr.  Dunham,"  announces 
the  maid. 

"  Here,  Boy!  "  says  the  boss,  catchin'  me  by 
the  elbow.  "  What  was  that  you  said  to  Mr. 
Piddie, — that  '  Boom-boom!  '  greeting?  " 

I  gives  it  to  him  and  the  Doc  in  a  stage 
whisper. 

"  Good!  "  says  he.    "  Get  that,  Hirshway? 


106  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

Now  let's  spring  it  on  'em.  All  together  now — 
S-s-s-st!  Boom-boom!  Outside!  J: 

Say,  it  makes  a  hit  with  the  directors,  all 
right.  First  off  they  didn't  seem  to  know 
whether  they'd  strayed  into  a  bughouse,  or  were 
just  bein'  cheered;  but  when  they  sees  Old  Hick 
ory's  mouth  corners  they  concludes  to  take  it 
as  a  josh.  It  turns  out  that  both  of  'em  are  golf 
cranks  too,  and  inside  of  three  minutes  they've 
forgot  whatever  it  was  they'd  come  for,  they've 
shed  their  coats,  and  have  been  rung  into  a  four 
some. 

Honest,  of  all  the  nutty  performances !  For 
there  was  no  tellin'  where  them  balls  would  roll 
to,  and  wherever  they  went  the  giddy  old  boys 
had  to  follow.  I  remember  one  of  'em  was 
stretched  out  full  length  on  his  tummy  in  the 
front  hall,  tryin'  to  make  a  billiard  shot  from 
under  a  low  hall  seat,  when  there's  another  ring 
at  the  bell,  and  Marston,  with  a  golf  -  bag  still 
slung  over  his  shoulder,  lets  in  a  square-jawed, 
heavy-set  old  gent  who  glares  around  like  he 
was  lookin'  for  trouble  and  would  be  disap 
pointed  if  he  didn't  find  it. 

"  Mr.  Peter  K.  Groff,"  announces  Marston. 

"  Good  night!  "  says  I  to  myself.  "  The 
enemy  is  in  our  midst." 

But  Old  Hickory  never  turns  a  hair.  He 
stands  there  in  his  shirt  sleeves  gazin'  calm  at 
this  grizzly  old  minin'  plute,  and  then  I  sees  a 


GLOOM  SHUNTING  FOE  THE  BOSS    107 

kind  of  cut-up  twinkle  flash  in  them  deep-set 
eyes  of  his  as  he  summons  his  foursome  to 
gather  around.  I  didn't  know  what  was  comin', 
either,  until  they  cuts  loose  with  it.  And  for 
havin'  had  no  practice  they  rips  it  out  strong. 

"  S-s-s-st!  Boom-boom!  Outside!  "  comes 
the  chorus. 

It  gets  Peter  K.'s  goat  too.  His  jaw  comes 
open  and  his  eyes  pop.  Next  he  swallows  hard 
and  flushes  red  behind  the  ears.  * '  Ellins, ' '  says 
he,  "  I've  come  fifteen  hundred  miles  to  ask 
what  you  mean  by  telling  me " 

"  Oh,  that  you,  Groff?  "  breaks  in  the  boss. 
11  Well,  don't  interrupt  our  game.  Fore!  You, 
I  mean.  Fore,  there !  Now  go  ahead,  Rawson. 
Playing  eleven,  aren't  you?  ' 

And  Eawson's  just  poked  his  ball  out,  makin' 
a  neat  carom  into  the  music  room,  when  the  hall 
clock  strikes  five. 

"  By  Jove,  gentlemen!  "  exclaims  Doc  Hirsh- 
way.  "  Sorry,  but  I  must  quit.  Should  have 
been  in  my  office  an  hour  ago.  I  really  must 
go." 

1 '  Quitter !  ' '  says  Mr.  Ellins.  '  *  But  all  right. 
Trot  along.  Here,  Groff,  you're  a  golfer,  aren't 
you?  " 

"  Why — er — yes,"  says  Peter  K.,  actin'  sort 
of  dazed;  but  I " 

"  That's  enough,"  says  Old  Hickory.  "  You 
take  Hirshway's  place.  Dunham's  your  part- 


108  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

ner.  "We're  playing  Nassau,  ten  a  corner.  But 
I'll  tell  you, — just  to  make  it  interesting,  I'll 
play  you  on  the  side  to  see  whether  or  not  we 
accept  that  proposition  of  yours.  Is  it  a  go?  ' 

"  But  see  here,  Ellins,"  comes  back  Peter  K, 
"  I  want  you  to  understand  that  you  or  any 
other  man  can't  tell  me  to  sew  my  head  in  a  bag 
without " 

"  Oh,  drop  that!  "  says  Old  Hickory.  "  I 
withdraw  it — mostly  gout,  anyway.  You  ought 
to  know  that.  And  if  you  can  beat  me  at  this 
game  I'll  agree  to  let  you  have  your  own  way 
out  there.  Are  you  on,  or  are  you  too  much  of  a. 
dub  to  try  it?  " 

"  Maybe  I  am  a  dub,  Hickory  Ellins,"  says 
Peter  K.,  peelin'  off  his  coat,  "  but  any  game 
that  you  can  play — er Which  is  my  ball  ?  ' 

Well,  it  was  some  warm  contest,  believe  me, 
with  them  two  joshin'  back  and  forth,  and  at  the 
same  time  usin'  as  much  foxy  strategy  as  if  they 
was  stealin'  railroads  away  from  each  other! 
They  must  have  been  at  it  for  near  half  an  hour 
when  a  maid  slips  in  and  whispers  how  Mr. 
Robert  is  callin'  for  me  on  the  wire.  So  I  puts 
her  on  to  sub  for  me  with  the  bag  while  I  slides 
into  the  'phone  booth. 

"  Sure,  Mr.  Robert,"  says  I,  "  I'm  still  on  the 
job." 

"  But  what  is  happening?  "  says  he.  "  Did 
n't  Groff  come  up?  " 


GLOOM  SHUNTING  FOR  THE  BOSS    109 

* '  Yep, ' '  says  I.    "  He 's  here  yet. ' ' 


. . 


You  don't  say!  '  says  Mr.  Robert. 
"  Whe-e-ew!  He  and  the  governor  having  it 
hot  and  heavy,  I  suppose?  " 

"  And  then  some,"  says  I.  "  Peter  K.  took 
first  round  12-17,  he  tied  the  second,  and  now 
he's  trapped  in  the  fireplace  on  a  bad  ten." 

"  Wha-a-at?  "  gasps  Mr.  Robert. 

"Uh-huh,"  says  I.  "  Mr.  Ellins  is  layin' 
under  the  piano, — only  seven,  but  stimied  for 
an  approach." 

"  In  Heaven's  name,  Torchy,"  says  Mr. 
Robert,  "  what  do  you  mean?  Mr.  Groff 
trapped  in  the  fireplace,  father  lying  under  the 
piano — why ' ' 

"Ah,  didn't  Piddie  tell  you?  The  boob!  " 
says  I.  "  It's  just  golf,  that's  all — indoor  kind 
— a  batty  variation  that  they  made  up  them 
selves.  But  don 't  fret.  Everything's  all  lovely, 
and  I  guess  the  Corrugated  is  saved.  Come  up 
and  look  'em  over." 

Yep!  Peter  K.  got  the  decision  by  slippin' 
over  a  smear  in  the  fourth,  after  which  him  and 
Old  Hickory  leans  up  against  each  other  and 
laughs  until  their  eyes  leak.  Then  Marston 
wheels  in  the  tea  wagon  full  of  decanters  and 
club  soda,  and  when  I  left  they  was  clinkin 
glasses  real  chummy. 

"  Son,"  says  Old  Hickory,  as  he  pads  into 
the  office  about  noon  next  day,  "  I  believe 


110  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

I  forgot  the  usual  caddie  fee.  There  you 
are." 

"  Z-z-z-zing!  "  says  I,  starin'  after  him. 

Cute  little  strips  of  Treasury  kale,  them  with 
the  C's  in  the  corners,  aren't  they?  Well,  I 
should  worry ! 


CHAPTER  VII 

COMING  IN  ON  THE  DRAW 

NOTHIN'  like  bein'  a  handy  man  around  the 
shop.  Here  at  the  Corrugated  I'm  worked  in 
for  almost  any  old  thing,  from  seein'  that  Mr. 
Ellins  takes  his  gout  tablets  reg'lar,  to  arrang 
ing  the  directors'  room  for  the  annual  meetin'; 
and  when  it  comes  to  subbin'  for  Mr.  Robert — 
say,  what  do  you  guess  is  the  latest  act  he 
bills  me  for!  Art  expert!  Yep,  A-r-t,  with  a 
big  A! 

Sounds  foolish,  don't  it?  But  at  that  it 
wa'n't  such  a  bad  hunch  on  his  part.  He's  a 
rash  promiser,  Mr.  Robert  is;  but  a  shifty 
proposition  when  you  try  to  push  a  programme 
on  him,  for  the  first  thing  you  know  he's  slid 
from  under.  I  suspicioned  some  play  like  that 
was  comin'  here  the  other  afternoon  when  Sister 
Marjorie  shows  up  at  the  general  offices  and 
asks  pouty,  "  Where's  Robert?  " 

11  On  the  job,"  says  I.  "  Session  of  the  gen 
eral  sales  agents  today,  you  know. ' ' 

"  But  he  was  to  meet  me  at  the  Broadway 
entrance  half  an  hour  ago,"  says  she,  "  and 

in 


112  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

I've  been  sitting  in  the  car  waiting  for  him. 
Call  him  out,  won't  you,  Torchy?  ' 

11  Won't  do  any  good,"  says  I.  "  He's 
booked  up  for  the  rest  of  the  day." 

"  The  idea !  "  says  Marjorie.  "  And  he  prom 
ised  faithfully  he  would  go  up  with  me  to  see 
those  pictures!  You  just  tell  him  I'm  here, 
that's  all." 

There's  more  or  less  light  of  battle  in  them 
bright  brown  eyes  of  Marjorie's,  and  that  El- 
lins  chin  of  hers  is  set  some  solid.  So  when 
I  tiptoes  in  where  they're  dividin'  the  map  of 
the  world  into  sellin'  areas,  and  whispers  in 
Mr.  Robert's  ear  that  Sister  Marjorie  is  waitin' 
outside,  I  adds  a  word  of  warnin'. 

"  It's  a  case  of  pictures,  you  remember," 
says  I. 

"  Oh,  the  deuce!  "  says  Mr.  Robert.  "  Hang 
Brooks  Bladen  and  his  paintings!  I  can't  go, 
positively.  Just  explain,  will  you,  Torchy?  ' 

"  Sure;  but  I'd  go  hoarse  over  it,"  says  I. 
*'  You  know  Marjorie,  and  if  you  don't  want  the 
meetin'  broke  up  I  expect  you'd  better  come 
out  and  face  the  music. ' ' 

"  Oh,  well,  then  I  suppose  I  must,"  says  he, 
leadin'  the  way. 

And  Marjorie  wa'n't  in  the  mood  to  stand  for 
any  smooth  excuses.  She  didn't  care  if  he  had 
forgotten,  and  she  guessed  his  old  business  af 
fairs  could  be  put  off  an  hour  or  so.  Besides, 


COMING  IN  ON  THE  DEAW       113 

this  meant  so  much  to  poor  Brooks.  His  very 
first  exhibit,  too.  Ferdy  couldn't  go,  either. 
Another  one  of  his  sick  headaches.  But  he  had 
promised  to  buy  a  picture,  and  Marjorie  had 
hoped  that  Eobert  would  like  one  of  them  well 
enough  to— 

"  Oh,  if  that's  all,"  puts  in  Mr.  Eobert, 
"  then  tell  him  I'll  take  one,  too." 

11  But  you  can't  buy  pictures  without  seeing 
them,"  protests  Marjorie.  "  Brooks  is  too  sen 
sitive.  He  wants  appreciation,  encouragement, 
you  see." 

"  A  lot  I  could  give  him,"  says  Mr.  Eobert. 
"  Why,  I  know  no  more  about  that  sort  of  thing 

than — well,  than "  And  just  here  his  eye 

lights  on  me.  "  Oh,  I  say,  though,"  he  goes  on, 
"  it  would  be  all  right,  wouldn't  it,  if  I  sent  a — 
er — a  commissioner?  " 

11  I  suppose  that  would  do,"  says  Mar 
jorie. 

"  Good!  "  says  Mr.  Eobert.  "  Torchy,  go 
with  Marjorie  and  look  at  that  lot.  If  they're 
any  good,  buy  one  for  me." 

' '  Wha-a-at  I  ' '  says  I.    ' '  Me  buy  a  picture  ?  ' ' 

"  Full  power,"  says  he,  startin'  back  to 
wards  the  meetin'.  "  Pick  out  the  best,  and  tell 
Bladen  to  send  me  the  bill." 

And  there  we're  left,  Marjorie  and  me,  lookin' 
foolish  at  each  other. 

"  Well,  he's  done  a  duck,"  says  I. 


114  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

"  If  you  mean  he's  got  himself  out  of  buy 
ing  a  picture,  you're  mistaken,"  says  she. 
11  Come  along." 

She  insists  on  callin'  the  bluff,  too.  Course, 
I  tries  to  show  her,  all  the  way  up  in  the  li 
mousine,  how  punk  a  performer  I'd  be  at  a  game 
like  that,  and  how  they'd  spot  me  for  a  bush 
leaguer  the  first  stab  I  made. 

"  Not  at  all,"  says  Marjorie,  "  if  you  do  as 
I  tell  you." 

With  that  she  proceeds  to  coach  me  in  the  art 
critic  business.  The  lines  wa'n't  hard  to  get, 
anyway. 

"  For  some  of  them,"  she  goes  on,  "  you 
merely  go  '  Um-m-m !  '  under  your  breath,  you 
know,  or  '  Ah-h-h-h!  '  to  yourself.  Then  when 
I  give  you  a  nudge  you  may  exclaim, '  Fine  feel 
ing  !  '  or l  Very  daring !  '  or  '  Wonderful  technic, 
wonderful!  ' 

"  Yes;  but    when    must     I     say   which?  ' 
says  I. 

"  It  doesn't  matter  in  the  least,"  says  Mar 
jorie. 

11  And  you  think  just  them  few  remarks," 
says  I,  "  will  pull  me  through." 

11  Enough  for  an  entire  exhibit  at  the  Na 
tional  Academy,"  says  she.  "  And  when  you 
decide  which  you  like  best,  just  point  it  out 
to  Mr.  Bladen." 

' '  Gee !  ' '  says  I.    ' '  Suppose  I  pick  a  lemon  ?  ' ' 


COMING  IN  ON  THE  DEAW        115 

11  Robert  won't  know  the  difference,"  says 
she, ' '  and  it  will  serve  him  right.  Besides,  poor 
Brooks  needs  the  encouragement." 

'  'Kind  of  a  dub  beginner  with  no  backin',  is 
he?  "  says  I. 

Marjorie  describes  him  diff' rent.  Accordin' 
to  her,  lie's  a  classy  comer  in  the  art  line,  with 
all  kinds  of  talent  up  his  sleeve  and  Fame  busy 
just  around  the  corner  on  a  laurel  wreath  ex 
actly  his  size.  Seems  Brooks  was  from  a  good 
fam'ly  that  had  dropped  their  bundle  some 
where  along  the  road;  so  this  art  racket  that 
he'd  taken  up  as  a  time  killer  he'd  had  to  turn 
into  a  steady  job.  He  wa'n't  paintin'  just  to 
keep  his  brushes  soft.  He  was  out  to  win  the 
kale. 

Between  the  lines  I  gathers  enough  to  guess 
that  before  she  hooked  up  with  Ferdy,  the  head 
achy  one,  Marjorie  had  been  some  mushy  over 
Brooks  boy  herself.  He'd  done  a  full  length 
of  her,  it  appears,  and  was  workin'  up  quite  a 
portrait  trade,  when  all  of  a  sudden  he  ups  and 
marries  someone  else,  a  rank  outsider. 

"  Too  bad!  "  sighs  Marjorie.  "  It  has  sadly 
interfered  with  his  career,  I'm  afraid." 

"  Ain't  drivin'  him  to  sign  work,  is  it?  ' 
says  I. 

"Goodness,  no!'  says  Marjorie.  "Just 
the  opposite.  Of  course,  Edith  was  a  poor  girl ; 
but  her  Uncle  Jeff  is  ever  so  rich.  They  live 


116  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

with  him,  you  know.  That's  the  trouble — Uncle 
Jeff." 

She's  a  little  vague  about  this  Uncle  Jeff  busi 
ness;  but  it  helps  explain  why  we  roll  up  to  a 
perfectly  good  marble  front  detached  house  just 
off  Riverside  Drive,  instead  of  stoppin'  at  one 
of  them  studio  rookeries  over  on  Columbus-ave. 
And  even  I'm  wise  to  the  fact  that  strugglin' 
young  artists  don't  have  a  butler  on  the  door 
unless  there's  something  like  an  Uncle  Jeff  in 
the  fam'ly. 

From  the  dozen  or  more  cars  and  taxis  hung 
up  along  the  block  I  judge  this  must  be  a  reg'lar 
card  affair,  with  tea  and  sandwich  trimmin's. 
It's  a  good  guess.  A  maid  tows  us  up  two 
flights,  though,  before  we  're  asked  to  shed  any 
thing;  and  before  we  lands  Marjorie  is  gaspin' 
some,  for  she  ain't  lost  any  weight  since  she 
collected  Ferdy.  Quite  a  studio  effect  they'd 
made  too,  by  throwin'  a  couple  of  servants' 
rooms  into  one  and  addin'  a  big  skylight.  There 
was  the  regulation  fishnet  draped  around,  and 
some  pieces  of  tin  armor  and  plaster  casts, 
which  proves  as  well  as  a  court  affidavit  that 
here's  where  the  real,  sure-fire  skookum  cre 
ative  genius  holds  forth. 

It 's  a  giddy  bunch  of  lady  gushers  that 's  got 
together  there  too,  and  the  soulful  chatter  is 
bein'  put  over  so  fast  it  sounds  like  intermission 
at  a  cabaret  show.  I'm  introduced  proper  to 


COMING  IN  ON  THE  DRAW        117 

Brooks  boy  and  Wifey;  but  I'd  picked  'em  both 
out  at  first  glimpse.  Nomistakin'him.  He's  got 
on  the  kind  of  costume  that  goes  with  the  fishnet 
and  brass  tea  machine, — flowin'  tie,  velvet  coat, 
baggy  trousers,  and  all,  even  to  the  Vandyke 
beard.  It's  kind  of  a  pale,  mud-colored  set  of 
face  alfalfa;  but,  then,  Brooks  boy  is  sort  of 
that  kind  himself — that  is,  all  but  his  eyes. 
They're  a  wide-set,  dreamy,  baby-blue  pair  of 
lamps,  that  beams  mild  and  good-natured  on 
everyone. 

But  Mrs.  Brooks  Bladen  is  got  up  even  more 
arty  than  Hubby.  Maybe  it  wa'n't  sugar  sack- 
in'  or  furniture  burlap,  but  that's  what  the  stuff 
looked  like.  It's  gathered  jaunty  just  under  her 
armpits  and  hangs  in  long  folds  to  the  floor, 
with  a  thick  rope  of  yellow  silk  knotted  careless 
at  one  side  with  the  tassels  danglin'  below  her 
knee,  while  around  her  head  is  a  band  of  tinsel 
decoration  that  might  have  been  pinched  off 
from  a  Christmas  tree.  She's  a  tall,  willowy 
young  woman,  who  waves  her  bare  arms  around 
vivacious  when  she  talks  and  has  lots  of  sparkle 
to  her  eyes. 

"  You  dear  child!  "  is  her  greetin'  to  Mar- 
jorie.  "  So  sweet  of  you  to  attempt  all  those 
dreadful  stairs!  No,  don't  try  to  talk  yet.  We 
understand,  don't  we,  Brooks?  Nice  you're  not 
sensitive  about  it,  too." 

I  caught  the  glare  Marjorie  shoots  over,  and 


118  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

for  a  minute  I  figured  how  the  picture  buyin' 
deal  had  been  queered  at  the  start ;  but  the  next 
thing  I  knew  Brooks  boy  is  holdin'  Marjorie's 
hand  and  beamin'  gentle  on  her,  and  she  is  show- 
in'  all  her  dimples  once  more.  Say,  they're 
worth  watchin',  some  of  these  fluff  encoun 
ters. 

My  act?  Ah,  say,  most  of  that  good  dope 
is  all  wasted.  Nobody  seems  excited  over  the 
fact  that  I've  arrived,  even  Brooks  Bladen.  As 
a  salesman  he  ain't  a  great  success,  I  judge. 
Don't  tout  up  his  stuff  any,  or  try  to  shove  off 
any  seconds  or  shopworn  pieces.  He  just  tells 
me  to  look  around,  and  half  apologizes  for 
his  line  in  advance. 

Well,  for  real  hand-painted  stuff  it  was  kind 
of  tame.  None  of  this  snowy-mountain-peak  or 
mirror-lake  business,  such  as  you  see  in  the  de 
partment  stores.  It's  just  North  Eiver  scenes; 
some  clear,  some  smoky,  some  lookin'  up,  some 
lookin'  down,  and  some  just  across.  In  one  he'd 
done  a  Fort  Lee  ferryboat  pretty  fair;  but 
there's  another  that  strikes  me  harder.  It 
shows  a  curve  in  the  drive,  with  one  of  them 
green  motor  busses  goin'  by,  the  top  loaded,  and 
off  in  the  background  to  one  side  the  Palisades 
loomin'  up  against  a  fair-weather  sunset,  while 
in  the  middle  you  can  see  clear  up  to  Yonkers. 
Honest,  it's  almost  as  good  as  some  of  them 
things  on  the  insurance  calendars,  and  I'm 


standin  gawpin'  at  it  when  Brooks  Bladen  and 
Marjorie  drifts  along. 

"  Well?  "  says  he,  sort  of  inquirin'. 

11  That  must  be  one  of  the  Albany  night  boats 
goin'  up,"  says  I.  '  She'll  be  turnin'  her  lights 
on  pretty  quick.  And  it's  goin'  to  be  a  corkin' 
evenin'  for  a  river  trip.  You  can  tell  that 
by- 

But  just  here  Marjorie  gives  me  a  jab  with 
her  elbow. 

"  Ow,  yes!  "  says  I,  rememberin'  my  lines. 
"  Um-m-m-m-m!  Fine  feelin'.  Very  darin' 
too,  very !  And  when  it  comes  to  the  tech  stuff 
— why,  it's  there  in  clusters.  Much  obliged — 
er — that  is,  I  guess  you  can  send  this  one.  Mr. 
Robert  Ellins.  That's  right.  Charge  and 
send." 

Maybe  he  wa'n't  used  to  makin'  such  quick 
sales ;  for  he  stares  at  me  sort  of  puzzled,  and 
when  I  turns  to  Marjorie  she's  all  pinked  up  like 
a  strawberry  sundae  and  is  smotherin'  a  giggle 
with  her  mesh  purse.  I  don't  know  why,  either. 
Strikes  me  I'd  put  it  over  kind  of  smooth;  but 
as  there  seems  to  be  a  slip  somewhere  it's 
me  for  the  rapid  back-away. 

"  Thanks,  that'll  be  all  to-day,"  I  goes  on, 
"  and — and  I'll  be  waitin'  downstairs,  Mar 
jorie." 

She  don't  stop  me;  so  I  pushes  through  the 
mob  at  the  tea  table,  collects  my  coat  and  lid, 


120  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

and  slips  down  to  the  first  floor,  where  I  wan 
ders  into  the  drawin'  room.  No  arty  decora 
tions  here.  Instead  of  pictures  and  plaster 
casts,  the  walls  are  hung  with  all  kinds  of 
mounted  heads  and  horns,  and  the  floor  is  cov 
ered  with  odd-lookin'  skin  rugs, — tigers,  lions, 
and  such. 

I'd  been  waitin'  there  sometime,  inspectin' 
the  still  life  menagerie,  when  all  of  a  sudden  in 
from  the  hall  rolls  one  of  these  invalid  wheeled 
chairs  with  a  funny  little  old  bald-headed  gent 
manipulatin'  levers.  What  hair  he  has  left  is 
real  white,  and  most  of  his  face  is  covered  with 
a  thin  growth  of  close-cropped  white  whiskers; 
but  under  the  frosty  shrubb'ry,  as  well  as  over 
all  the  bare  space,  he's  colored  up  as  bright  as  a 
bottle  of  maraschino  cherries.  It's  the  sort  of 
sunburn  a  sandy  complexion  gets  on;  but  not 
in  a  month  or  a  year.  You  know?  One  of 
these  blond  Eskimo  tints,  that  seems  to  go  clear 
through  the  skin.  How  he  could  get  it  in  a 
wheel  chair,  though,  I  couldn't  figure  out.  Any 
way,  there  wa'n't  time.  Quick  as  he  sees  me  he 
throws  in  his  reverse  gear  and  comes  to  a  stop 
between  the  portieres. 

"  Well,  young  man,"  he  raps  out  sharp  and 
snappy,  "  who  the  particular  blazes  are  you?  ' 

But,  say,  I've  met  too  many  peevish  old  par 
ties  to  let  a  little  jab  like  that  tie  up  my  tongue. 

"  Me?  "  says  I,  settlin'  back  easy  in  the  arm- 


chair.  *  *  Oh,  I  'm  a  buyer,  representin '  a  private 
collector." 

"  Buyer  of  what?  "  says  he. 

"  Art,"  says  I.  "  Just  picked  up  a  small 
lot, — that  one  with  the  Albany  night  boat  in  it, 
you  know." 

He  stares  like  he  thought  I  was  batty,  and 
then  rolls  his  chair  over  closer.  "  Do  I  under 
stand,  ' '  says  he,  ' '  that  you  have  been  buying  a 
picture — here?  " 

"  Sure,"  says  I.  "  Say,  ain't  you  on  yet,  and 
you  right  in  the  house  ?  Well,  you  ought  to  get 
next." 

"  I  mean  to,"  says  he.  "  Bladen's  stuff,  I 
suppose?  ' 

"  Uh-huh,"  says  I.  "  And,  believe  me, 
Brooksy  is  some  paint  slinger ;  that  is,  fine  feel- 
in',  darin'  technic,  all  that  sort  of  dope." 

"  I  see,"  says  he,  noddin'  his  head.  "  Hold 
ing  a  sale,  is  he?  On  one  of  the  upper  floors?  ' 

"  Top,"  says  I.  "  Quite  a  classy  little  studio 
joint  he's  made  up  there." 

"  Oh,  helms,  has  he?  "  says  the  old  boy,  snap- 
pin'  his  eyes.  "  Well,  of  all  the  confounded — er 
— young  man,  ring  that  bell!  >: 

Say,  how  was  I  goin'  to  know?  I  was  begin- 
nin'  to  suspect  that  this  chatty  streak  of  mine 
wa'n't  goin'  to  turn  out  lucky  for  someone;  but 
it's  gone  too  far  to  hedge.  I  pushes  the  button, 
and  in  comes  the  butler. 


122  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

"  Tupper,"  says  the  old  man,  glarin'  at  him 
shrewd,  "  you  know  where  the  top-floor  studio 
is,  don't  you?  " 

"  Ye-e-es,  Sir,"  says  Tupper,  almost  chokin' 
over  it. 

"  You'll  find  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bladen  there," 
goes  on  old  Grouchy.  "  Ask  them  to  step  down 
here  for  a  moment  at  once." 

Listened  sort  of  mussy  from  where  I  sat,  and 
I  wa'n't  findin'  the  armchair  quite  so  comf't- 
able.  "  Guess  I'll  be  loafin'  along,"  says  I, 
casual. 

"  You'll  stay  just  where  you  are  for  the  pres 
ent  !  "  says  he,  wheelin'  himself  across  the  door 
way. 

"  Oh,  well,  if  you  insist,"  says  I. 

He  did.  And  for  two  minutes  there  I  Kst3ns 
to  the  clock  tick  and  watches  the  old  sport's 
white  whiskers  grow  bristly.  Then  comes  the 
Bladens.  He  waves  'em  to  a  parade  rest  oppo 
site  me. 

11  What  is  it,  Uncle  Jeff?  "  says  Mrs.  Bladen, 
sort  of  anxious.  And  with  that  I  begins  to  piece 
out  the  puzzle.  This  was  Uncle  Jeff,  eh,  the  one 
with  the  bank  account  ? 

"  So,"  he  explodes,  like  openin'  a  bottle  of 
root  beer,  "  you've  gone  back  to  your  paint 
daubing,  have  you?  And  you're  actually  trying 
to  sell  your  namby-pamby  stuff  on  my  top  floor? 


Come  now,  Edith,  let's  hear  you  squirm  out  of 
that!  " 

Considerable  fussed,  Edith  is.  No  wonder! 
After  one  glance  at  me  she  flushes  up  and  begins 
twistin'  the  yellow  silk  cord  nervous;  but  noth- 
in'  in  the  way  of  a  not  guilty  plea  seems  to  occur 
to  her.  As  for  Hubby,  he  blinks  them  mild  eyes 
of  his  a  couple  of  times,  and  then  stands  there 
placid  with  both  hands  in  the  pockets  of  his 
velvet  coat,  showin'  no  deep  emotion  at  all. 

"  It's  so,  isn't  it?  "  demands  Uncle. 

"  Ye-e-es,  Uncle  Jeff,"  admits  Edith.  "  But 
poor  Brooks  could  do  nothing  else,  you  know. 
If  he'd  taken  a  studio  outside,  you  would  have 
wanted  to  know  where  he  was.  And  those  rooms 
were  not  in  use.  Keally,  what  else  could  he 
do?  " 

' '  Mean  to  tell  me  he  couldn  't  get  along  with 
out  puttering  around  with  those  fool  paints 
and  brushes?  "  snorts  Uncle  Jeff. 

"  It — it's  his  life  work,  Uncle  Jeff,"  says 
Mrs.  Bladen. 

"  Eubbish!  "  says  the  old  boy.  "  In  the  first 
place,  it  isn't  work.  Might  be  for  a  woman, 
maybe,  but  not  for  an  able-bodied  man.  You 
know  my  sentiments  on  that  point  well  enough. 
In  the  second  place,  when  I  asked  you  two  to 
come  and  live  with  me,  there  was  no  longer  any 
need  for  him  to  do  that  sort  of  thing.  And 
you  understood  that  too." 


124  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

Edith  sighs  and  nods  her  head. 

"  But  still  he  goes  on  with  his  sissy  paint 
daubing !  ' '  says  Uncle. 

"  They're  not  daubs!  "  flashes  back  Edith. 
"  Brooks  has  been  doing  some  perfectly  splen 
did  work.  Everyone  says  so." 

"  Humph!  "  says  Uncle  Jeff.  "  That's  what 
your  silly  friends  tell  you.  But  it  doesn't  mat 
ter.  I  won't  have  him  doing  it  in  my  house. 
You  thought,  just  because  I  was  crippled  and 
couldn't  get  around  or  out  of  these  confounded 
four  rooms,  that  you  could  fool  me.  But  you 
can't,  you  see.  And  now  I'm  going  to  give  you 
and  Brooks  your  choice, — either  he  stops  paint 
ing,  or  out  you  both  go.  Now  which  will  it 


. . 


Why,  Sir,"  says  Brooks,  speakin'  up 
prompt  but  pleasant,  "  if  that  is  the  way  you 
feel  about  it,  we  shall  go." 

11  Eh?  "  says  Uncle  Jeff,  squintin'  hard  at 
him.  '  *  Do  you  mean  it  ?  Want  to  leave  all  this 
for — for  the  one  mean  little  room  I  found  you 
in?" 

"  Under  your  conditions,  most  certainly, 
Sir,"  says  Brooks.  "  I  think  Edith  feels  as  I 
do.  Don't  you,  Edith?  " 

"  Ye-e-es,  of  course,"  says  Mrs.  Bladen. 
Then,  turnin'  on  Uncle  Jeff,  "  Only  I  think  you 
are  a  mean,  hard-hearted  old  man,  even  if  you 
are  my  uncle!  Oh,  you  don't  know  how  often 


COMING  IN  ON  THE  DRAW       125 

I've  wanted  to  tell  you  so  too, — always  prying 
into  this,  asking  questions  about  that,  finding 
fault,  forever  cross  and  snappish  and  sus 
picious.  A  waspish,  crabbed  old  wretch,  that's 
what  you  are !  I  just  hate  you !  So  there !  ' ' 

Uncle  Jeff  winces  a  little  at  these  last  jabs; 
but  he  only  turns  to  Brooks  and  asks  quiet, 
"  And  I  suppose  those  are  your  sentiments 
too?  " 

"  Edith  is  a  little  overwrought,"  says  Brooks. 
"  It's  true  enough  that  you're  not  quite  an 
agreeable  person  to  live  with.  Still,  I  hardly 
feel  that  I  have  treated  you  just  right  in  this 
matter.  I  shouldn't  have  deceived  you  about  the 
studio.  When  I  found  that  I  couldn't  bear  to 
give  up  my  work  and  live  like  a  loafer  on  your 
money,  I  should  have  told  you  so  outright.  I 
haven 't  liked  it,  Sir,  all  this  dodging  and  twist 
ing  of  the  truth.  I'm  glad  it's  over.  Would 
you  prefer  to  have  us  go  tonight  or  in  the  morn 
ing?  " 

"  Come  now,  that's  not  the  point,"  says 
Uncle  Jeff.  "  You  hate  me,  too,  don't 
you?  " 

"  No,"  says  Brooks,  "  and  I'm  sure  Edith 
doesn't  either." 

"  Yes  I  do,  Brooks,"  breaks  in  Edith. 

Brooks  shrugs  his  shoulders  sort  of  hopeless. 

"  In  that  case,"  says  he,  "  we  shall  leave  at 
once — now.  I  will  send  around  for  our  traps 


126  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

later.  You  have  been  very  generous,  and  I'm 
afraid  I've  shown  myself  up  for  an  ungrateful 
ass,  if  not  worse.  Goodby,  Sir." 

He  stands  there  holdin'  out  his  hand,  with 
the  old  gent  starin'  hard  at  him  and  not  movin'. 
Fin'lly  Uncle  Jeff  breaks  the  spell. 

"  Well,  I'll  be  hanged!  "  says  he.  "  Bladen, 
I  didn't  think  it  was  in  you.  I  took  you  for 
one  of  the  milksop  kind;  which  shows  just 
how  big  a  fool  an  old  fool  can  be.  And  Edith 
is  right.  I'm  a  crazy,  quarrelsome  old  wretch. 
It  isn't  all  rheumatism,  either.  Some  of  it  is 
disposition.  And  don't  you  go  away  thinking 
I've  been  generous,  trying  to  tie  you  two  young 
people  down  this  way.  It  was  rank  selfishness. 
But  you  don't  know  how  hard  it  comes,  being 
shut  up  like  this  and  able  only  to  move  around 
on  wheels — after  the  life  I've  led  too!  I  sup 
pose  I  ought  to  be  satisfied.  I've  had  my  share 
— nearly  thirty  years  on  the  go,  in  jungle,  forest, 
mountains,  all  over  the  globe.  I've  hunted  big 
game  in  every — but  you  know  all  about  that. 
And  now  I  suppose  I'm  worn  out,  useless.  I 
was  trying  to  get  used  to  it,  and  having  you 
young  folks  around  has  helped  a  lot.  But  it 
hasn't  been  fair  to  you — not  fair." 

He  sort  of  chokes  up  at  the  end,  and  his  lower 
lip  trembles  some;  but  only  for  a  second.  He 
straightens  up  once  more  in  his  chair.  "  You 
must  try  to  make  allowances,  Edith,"  he  goes 


COMING  IN  ON  THE  DRAW       127 

on.  "  Don't — don't  hate  the  old  wretch  too 
hard!  " 

That  got  to  her,  all  right.  She  wa'n't  gush 
all  the  way  through,  any  more'n  Uncle  Jeff 
was  all  crust.  Next  thing  he  knew  she  was 
givin'  him  the  fond  tackle  and  sobbin'  against 
his  vest. 

"  There,  there!  "  says  he,  pattin'  her  sooth- 
in'.  "  We  all  make  our  mistakes,  old  and 
young;  only  us  old  fellows  ought  to  know  bet 
ter." 

"  But — but  they  aren't  daubs!  "  sobs  out 
Edith.  "  And — and  you  said  they  were,  with 
out  even  seeing  them." 

"  Just  like  me,"  says  he.  "  And  I'm  no 
judge,  anyway.  But  perhaps  I'd  better  take  a 
look  at  some  of  them.  How  would  that  be,  eh? 
Couldn't  Tupper  bring  a  couple  of  them  down 
now?  " 

"  Oh,  may  he?  "  says  Edith,  brightenin'  up 
and  turnin'  off  the  sprayer.  "  I  have  wished 
that  you  could  see  them,  you  know." 

So  Tupper  is  sent  for  a  couple  of  paintings, 
and  Brooks  chases  along  to  bring  down  two 
more.  They  ranges  'em  on  chairs,  and  wheels 
Uncle  Jeff  into  a  good  position.  He  squints  at 
'em  earnest  and  tries  hard  to  work  up  some 
enthusiasm. 

"  Ferryboats,  sugar  refineries,  and  the  North 
Eiver,"  says  he.  "  All  looks  natural  enough. 


128  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

I  suppose  they're  well  done  too;  but — but  see 
here,  young  man,  couldn't  you  find  anything 
better  to  paint?  ' 

11  Where?  "  says  Brooks.  "  You  see,  I  was 
able  to  get  out  only  occasionally  without— 

"  I  see,"  says  Uncle  Jeff.  "  Tied  to  a  cranky 
old  man  in  a  wheel  chair.  But,  by  George !  I 
could  take  you  to  places  worth  wasting  your 
paint  on.  Ever  heard  of  Yangarook?  There's 
a  pink  mountain  there  that  rises  up  out  of  a 
lake,  and  on  still  mornings — well,  you  ought  to 
see  it !  I  pitched  my  camp  there  once  for  a  fort 
night.  I  could  find  it  again.  You  go  in  from 
Boola  Bay,  up  the  Zambesi,  and  through  the 
jungle.  Then  there's  the  Khula  Klaht  valley. 
That's  in  the  Himalayas.  Pictures?  Why,  you 
could  get  'em  there!  " 

11  I've  no  doubt  I  could,  Sir,"  says  Brooks. 
"  I've  dreamed  of  doing  something  like  that 
some  day,  too.  But  what's  the  use?  " 

"  Eh?  "  says  Uncle  Jeff,  almost  standin'  up 
in  his  excitement.  "  Why  not,  my  boy?  I  could 
take  you  there,  chair  or  no  chair.  Didn't  I  go 
in  a  litter  once,  halfway  across  Africa,  when  a 
clumsy  Zulu  beater  let  a  dying  rhino  gore  me  in 
the  hip  ?  Yes,  and  bossed  a  caravan  of  sixty  men, 
and  me  flat  on  my  back!  I'm  better  able  to 
move  now  than  I  was  then,  too.  And  I'm  ready 
to  try  it.  Another  year  of  this,  and  I'd  be  under 
the  ground.  I'm  sick  of  being  cooped  up.  I'm 


COMING  IN  ON  THE  DRAW       129 

hungry  for  a  breath  of  mountain  air,  for  a 
glimpse  of  the  old  trails.  No  use  taking  my 
guns ;  but  you  could  lug  along  your  painting  kit, 
and  Edith  could  take  care  of  both  of  us.  We 
could  start  within  a  week.  What  do  you  say, 
you  two?  " 

Brooks  he  looks  over  at  Edith.  "  Oh,  Uncle 
Jeff!  "  says  she,  her  eyes  sparklin'.  "  I  should 
just  love  it!  " 

"  I  could  ask  for  nothing  better,"  says 
Brooks. 

"  Then  it's  settled,"  says  Uncle  Jeff,  reach- 
in'  out  a  hand  to  each  of  'em.  "  Hurrah  for  the 
long  trail!  We're  off !" 

"  Me  too,"  says  I,  "  if  that's  all." 

' '  Ah !  ' '  says  Uncle  Jeff.  t '  Our  young  friend 
who 's  at  the  bottom  of  the  whole  of  this.  Here, 
Sir!  I'm  going  to  teach  you  a  lesson  that  will 
make  you  cautious  about  gossiping  with  strange 
old  men.  Pick  up  that  leopard  skin  at  your 
feet." 

"  Yes,  Sir,"  says  I,  holdin'  it  out  to  him. 

' '  No,  examine  it  carefully, ' '  says  he.  * '  That 
came  from  a  beast  I  shot  on  the  shores  of  Lake 
Tanganyika.  It's  the  finest  specimen  of  the 
kind  in  my  whole  collection.  Throw  it  over 
your  arm,  you  young  scamp,  and  get  along  with 
you !  ' ' 

And  they're  all  grinnin'  amiable  as  I  backs 
out  with  my  mouth  open. 


130  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

"  What  the  deuce!  "  says  Mr.  Robert  after 
lunch  next  day,  as  he  gazes  first  at  a  big  pack 
age  a  special  messenger  has  just  left,  and  then 
at  a  note  which  comes  with  it.  "  '  The  Palisades 
at  Dusk  ' — five  hundred  dollars!  " 

11  Gee!  "  I  gasps.  "  Did  he  sting  you  that 
hard?  " 

"  But  it's  receipted,"  says  he,  "  with  the  com 
pliments  of  Brooks  Bladen.  What  does  that 
mean?  " 

"  Means  I'm  some  buyer,  I  guess,"  says  I. 
"  Souvenir  of  a  little  fam'ly  reunion  I  started, 
that's  all.  But  you  ain't  the  only  one.  Wait 
till  you  see  what  I  drew  from  Uncle  Jeff. ' ' 


CHAPTER  VIII 

GLADYS  IN  A  DOUBLE  BILL 

HE  meant  well,  Mr.  Robert  did;  but,  say,  be 
tween  you  and  me,  he  come  blamed  near  spillin' 
the  beans.  Course,  I  could  see  by  the  squint 
to  his  eyelids  that  he's  about  to  make  what 
passes  with  him  for  a  comic  openin'. 

"  I  hate  to  do  it,  Torchy,"  says  he,  "  espe 
cially  on  such  a  fine  afternoon  as  this." 

11  Go  on,"  says  I,  "  throw  the  harpoon!  Got 
your  yachtin'  cap  on,  ain't  you?  Well,  have  I 
got  to  sub  for  you  at  a  directors'  meetin'  or 
what!  " 

"  Worse  than  that,"  says  he.  "  You  see, 
Marjorie  and  Ferdy  are  having  a  veranda  tea 
this  afternoon,  up  at  their  country  house." 

*  *  Help !  ' '  says  I.  '  *  But  you  ain  't  billin '  me 
for  any  such " 

11  Oh,  not  exactly  that,"  says  he.  "  They  can 
get  along  very  well  without  me,  and  I  shall 
merely  'phone  out  that  Tubby  Van  Orden  has 
asked  me  to  help  try  out  his  new  forty-footer. 
But  there  remains  little  Gladys.  I'd  promised 
to  bring  her  out  with  me  when  I  came. ' ' 

131 


132  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

"  Ye-e-e-es?  "  says  I  doubtful.  "  She's  a 
little  joker,  eh?  " 

* l  Why,  not  at  all, ' '  says  he.  '  *  Merely  a  young 
school  friend  of  Marjorie 's.  Used  to  be  in  the 
kindergarten  class  when  Marjorie  was  a 
senior,  and  took  a  great  fancy  to  her,  as 
little  girls  sometimes  do  to  older  ones,  you 
know. ' ' 

Also  it  seems  little  Gladys  had  been  spendin' 
a  night  or  so  with  another  young  friend  in 
town,  and  someone  had  to  round  her  up  and 
deliver  her  at  the  tea,  where  her  folks  would  be 
waitin'  for  her. 

"  So  I'm  to  take  her  by  the  hand  and  tow  her 
up  by  train,  am  I?  "  says  I. 

"  I  had  planned,"  says  Mr.  Robert,  shakin' 
his  head  solemn,  "  to  have  you  go  up  in  the 
machine  with  her,  as  Marjorie  wants  to  send 
someone  back  in  it — Miss  Vee,  by  the  way.  Sure 
it  wouldn't  bore  you?  " 

"  Z-z-z-ing!  "  says  I.  "  Say,  if  it  does  you'll 
never  hear  about  it,  believe  me!  " 

Mr.  Robert  chuckles.  '  *  Then  take  good  care 
of  little  Gladys,"  says  he. 

11  Won't  I,  though!  "  says  I.  "I'll  tell  her 
fairy  tales  and  feed  her  stick  candy  all  the 
way  up." 

Honest,  I  did  blow  in  a  quarter  on  fancy  pink 
gumdrops  as  I'm  passin'  through  the  arcade; 
but  when  I  strolls  out  to  the  limousine  Martin 


GLADYS  IN  A  DOUBLE  BILL      133 

touches  his  hat  so  respectful  that  I  gives  him  a 
dip  into  the  first  bag. 

"  Got  your  sailin'  orders,  ain't  you,  Mar 
tin?  "  says  I.  "  You  know  we  collect  a  kid 
first." 

"  Oh,  yes,  Sir,"  says  he.  "  Madison  avenue. 
I  have  the  number,  Sir."  Just  like  that  you 
know.  "  I  have  the  number,  Sir  " — and  more 
business  with  the  cap  brim.  Awful  bore,  ain't 
it,  specially  right  there  on  Broadway  with  so 
many  folks  to  hear? 

"  Very  well,"  says  I,  languid.  Then  it's  me 
lollin'  back  on  the  limousine  cushions  and  star- 
in'  haughty  at  the  poor  dubs  we  graze  by  as 
they  try  to  cross  the  street.  Gee,  but  it's  some 
different  when  you're  inside  gazin'  out,  than 
when  you're  outside  gawpin'  in!  And  even  if 
you  don't  have  the  habit  reg'lar,  but  are  only 
there  just  for  the  time  bein',  you're  bound  to 
get  that  chesty  feelin'  more  or  less.  I  always 
do.  About  the  third  block  I  can  look  slant-eyed 
at  the  cheap  skates  ridin'  in  hired  taxis  and 
curl  the  lip  of  scorn. 

I've  noticed,  though,  that  when  I  work  up 
feelin 's  like  that  there's  bound  to  be  a  bump 
comin '  to  me  soon.  But  I  wa  'n  't  lookin '  for  this 
one  until  it  landed.  Martin  pulls  up  at  the 
curb,  and  I  hops  out,  rushes  up  the  steps,  and 
rings  the  bell. 


134  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

"  Little  Miss  Gladys  ready?  "  says  I  to  the 
maid. 

She  sort  of  humps  her  eyebrows  and  remarks 
that  she'll  see.  With  that  she  waves  me  into 
the  reception  hall,  and  pretty  soon  comes  back 
to  report  that  Miss  Gladys  will  be  down  in  a 
few  minutes.  She  had  the  real  skirt  notion  of 
time,  that  maid.  For  more'n  a  solid  half-hour 
I  squirms  around  on  a  chair  wonderin'  what 
could  be  happenin'  up  in  the  nursery.  Then  all 
of  a  sudden  a  chatter  of  goodbys  comes  from 
the  upper  hall,  a  maid  trots  down  and  hands  me 
a  suitcase,  and  then  appears  this  languishin' 
vision  in  the  zippy  French  lid  and  the  draped 
silk  wrap. 

It's  one  of  these  dinky  brimless  affairs,  with 
skyrocket  trimmin'  on  the  back,  and  it  fits  down 
over  her  face  like  a  mush  bowl  over  Baby 
Brother;  but  under  the  rim  you  could  detect 
some  chemical  blonde  hair  and  a  pair  of  pink 
ears  ornamented  with  pearl  pendants  the  size 
of  fruit  knife  handles.  She  has  a  complexion 
to  match,  one  of  the  kind  that's  laid  on  in  lay 
ers,  with  the  drugstore  red  only  showin' 
through  the  whitewash  in  spots,  and  the  lips 
touched  up  brilliant.  Believe  me,  it  was  some 
artistic  makeup ! 

Course,  I  frames  this  up  for  the  friend;  so 
I  asks  innocent,  * '  Excuse  me,  but  when  is  little 
Miss  Gladys  comin'?  " 


GLADYS  IN  A  DOUBLE  BILL      135 

"  Why,  I'm  Gladys!  "  comes  from  between 
the  carmine  streaks. 

I  gawps  at  her,  then  at  the  maid,  and  then 
back  at  the  Ziegfeld  vision  again.  "  But,  see 
here!"  I  goes  on.  "  Mr.  Eobert  he  says 
how " 

' '  Yes,  I  know, ' '  she  breaks  in.  ' '  He  'phoned. 
The  stupid  old  thing  couldn't  come  himself,  and 
he's  sent  one  of  his  young  men.  That's  much 
nicer.  Torchy,  didn't  he  say?  How  odd!  But 
come  along.  Don 't  stand  there  staring.  Good- 
by,  Marie.  You  must  do  my  hair  this  way  again 
sometime." 

And  next  thing  I  know  I'm  helpin'  her  into 
the  car,  while  Martin  tries  to  smother  a  grin. 
"  There  you  are!  "  says  I,  chuckin'  her  suit 
case  in  after  her.  "  I — I  guess  I'll  ride  in 
front." 

"  What!  "  says  she.  "  And  leave  me  to  take 
that  long  ride  all  alone?  I'll  not  do  it.  Come 
in  here  at  once,  or  I'll  not  go  a  step!  Come!  " 

No  shrinking  violet  about  Gladys,  and  as  I 
climbs  in  I  shakes  loose  the  last  of  that  kinder 
garten  dope  I'd  been  primed  with.  I'll  admit 
I  was  some  fussed  for  awhile  too,  and  I  expect 
I  does  the  dummy  act,  sittin'  there  gazin'  into 
the  limousine  mirror  where  she 's  reflected  vivid. 
I  was  tryin'  to  size  her  up  and  decide  whether 
she  really  was  one  of  the  chicken  ballet,  or  only 
a  high  school  imitation.  I'm  so  busy  at  it  that 


136  ON"  WITH  TORCHY 

I  overlooks  the  fact  that  she  has  the  same 
chance  of  watchin'  me. 

"  Well?  "  says  she,  as  we  swings  into  Cen 
tral  Park.  "  I  trust  you  approve?  " 

"  Eh?  "  says  I,  comin'  out  of  the  trance. 
"  Oh,  I  get  you  now.  You're  waitin'  for  the 
applause.  Let's  see,  are  you  on  at  the  Winter 
Garden,  or  is  it  the  Casino  roof?  " 

1 '  Now  don 't  be  rude, ' '  says  she.  ' '  Whatever 
made  you  think  I'd  been  on  the  stage?  " 

"  I  was  only  judgin'  by  the  get-up,"  says  I. 
"  It's  fancy,  all  right." 

11  Pooh!  "  says  she.  "  I've  merely  had  my 
hair  done  the  new  way.  I  think  it's  perfectly 
dear  too.  There's  just  one  little  touch,  though, 
that  Marie  didn  't  quite  get.  I  wonder  if  I  could- 
n't — you'll  not  care  if  I  try,  will  you?  " 

"  Oh,  don't  mind  me,"  says  I. 

She  didn't.  She'd  already  yanked  out  three 
or  four  hatpins  and  has  pried  off  the  zippy  lid. 

''There,  hold  that,  will  you?'1  says  she, 
crowdin'  over  into  the  middle  of  the  seat  so's  to 
get  a  good  view  in  the  mirror,  and  beginnin'  to 
revise  the  scenic  effect  on  her  head.  Near  as  I 
can  make  out,  the  hair  don't  come  near  enough 
to  meetin'  her  eyebrows  in  front  or  to  cover- 
in'  her  ears  on  the  side. 

Meanwhile  she  goes  on  chatty,  "  I  suppose 
Mother '11  be  wild  again  when  she  sees  me  like 
this.  She  always  does  make  such  a  row  if  I  do 


f-f 


BELIEVE  ME,   IT  WAS  SOME  ARTISTIC  MAKEUP! 


GLADYS  IN  A  DOUBLE  BILL      137 

anything  different.  There  was  an  awful  scene 
the  first  time  I  had  my  hair  touched  up. 
Fancy!  " 

"  I  was  wonderin'  if  that  was  the  natural 
tint?  "  says  I. 

"  Goodness,  no!  "  says  Gladys.  "  It  was  a 
horrid  brown.  And  when  I  used  to  go  to  the 
seminary  they  made  me  wear  it  braided  down 
my  back,  with  a  bow  on  top.  I  was  a  sight! 
The  seminary  was  a  stupid  place,  though.  I 
was  always  breaking  some  of  their  silly  rules ; 
so  Mummah  sent  me  to  the  convent.  That  was 
better.  Such  a  jolly  lot  of  girls  there,  some 
whose  mothers  were  great  actresses.  And  just 
think — two  of  my  best  chums  have  gone  on  the 
stage  since!  One  of  them  was  married  and 
divorced  the  very  first  season  too.  Now  wasn't 
that  thrilling?  Mother  is  furious  because  she 
still  writes  to  me.  How  absurd !  And  some  of 
the  others  she  won't  allow  me  to  invite  to  the 
house.  But  we  meet  now  and  then,  just  the 
same.  There  were  two  in  our  box  party  last 
night,  and  we  had  such  a  ripping  lark  after 
ward!  " 

Gladys  was  runnin'  on  as  confidential  as  if 
she'd  known  me  all  her  life,  interruptin'  the 
flow  only  when  she  makes  a  jab  with  the  powder 
puff  and  uses  the  eyebrow  pencil.  And  bein'  as 
how  I'd  been  cast  for  a  thinkin'  part  I  sneaks 
out  the  bag  of  gumdrops  and  tucks  one  into  the 


138  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

off  side  of  my  face.  The  move  don't  escape  her, 
though. 

"  Candy?  "  says  she,  sniffin'. 

"  Sorry  I  can't  offer  you  a  cigarette,"  says  I, 
holdin '  out  the  bag. 

"  Humph!  "  says  she.  "  I  have  smoked 
them,  though.  M-m-m-m!  Gumdrops!  You 
dear  boy!  ' 

Yes,  Gladys  and  me  had  a  real  chummy  time 
of  it  durin'  that  hour's  drive,  and  I  notice  she 
put  away  her  share  of  the  candy  just  as  enthusi 
astic  as  if  she'd  been  a  kid  in  short  dresses.  As 
a  matter  of  fact,  she  acts  and  talks  like  any 
gushy  sixteen-year-old.  That's  about  what  she 
is,  I  discovers;  though  I  wouldn't  have  guessed 
it  if  she  hadn't  let  it  out  herself. 

But,  say,  she 's  some  wise  for  her  years,  little 
Gladys  is,  or  else  she 's  a  good  bluffer !  She  had 
me  holdin'  my  breath  more'n  once,  as  she  opens 
up  various  lines  of  chatter.  She'd  seen  all  the 
ripe  problem  plays,  was  posted  on  the  doin's 
of  the  Reno  colony,  and  read  the  Robert  Cham 
bers  stuff  as  fast  as  it  came  out. 

And  all  the  time  she  talks  she's  goin'  through 
target  practice  with  her  eyes,  usin'  me  as  the 
mark.  A  lively  pair  of  lamps  Gladys  has  too, 
the  big,  innocent,  baby-blue  kind  that  sort  of 
opens  up  wide  and  kind  of  invites  you  to  gaze 
into  the  depths  until  you  get  dizzy.  Them  and 
the  little,  openin'  rosebud  mouth  makes  a  strong 


GLADYS  IN  A  DOUBLE  BILL      139 

combination,  and  if  it  hadn't  been  for  the  mural 
decorations  I  might  have  fallen  hard  for 
Gladys;  but  ever  since  I  leaned  up  against  a 
shiny  letterbox  once  I've  been  shy  of  fresh 
paint.  So  I  proceeds  to  hand  out  the  defensive 
josh. 

"  Boll  'em  away,  Sis,"  says  I,  "  roll  'em  the 
other  way!  " 

"  Pooh!  "  says  she.  "  Can't  a  person  even 
look  at  you!  ' 

"  You're  only  wastin'  ammunition,"  says  I. 
"  You  can't  put  any  spell  on  me,  you  know." 

11  Oh,  really!  "  says  she,  rakin'  me  with  a 
quick  broadside.  "  Do  you  mean  that  you  don't 
like  me  at  all?  " 

"  Since  you've  called  for  it,"  says  I,  "  I'll 
admit  I  ain't  strong  for  these  spotlight  color 
schemes,  specially  on  kids." 

* '  Kids !  ' '  she  sputters.  ' '  I  think  you're  per 
fectly  horrid,  so  there!  " 

' '  Stick  to  it, ' '  says  I.  ' '  Makes  me  feel  bet 
ter  satisfied  with  myself." 

"  Bedhead!  "  says  she,  runnin'  her  tongue 
out. 

"  Yes,  clear  to  the  roots,"  says  I,  "  and  the 
tint  didn't  come  out  of  a  bottle,  either." 

"  I  don't  care,"  says  she.  "  All  the  girls 
do  it." 

"  Your  bunch,  maybe,"  says  I;  "  but  there's 
a  few  that  don't." 


140  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

"  Old  sticks,  yes,"  says  she.  "I'm  glad  you 
like  that  kind.  You're  as  bad  as  Mummah." 

"  Is  that  the  worst  you  can  say  of  me?  "  says 
I.  "  How  that  would  please  Mother!  " 

Oh,  sure,  quite  a  homelike  little  spat  we  had, 
passin'  the  left  banders  back  and  forth — and 
inside  of  five  minutes  she  has  made  it  all  up 
again  and  is  holdin'  out  her  hand  for  the  last 
gumdrop. 

"  You're  silly;  but  you're  rather  nice,  after 
all,"  says  she,  poutin'  her  lips  at  me. 

li  Now  quit  that,"  says  I.  "I  got  my  fingers 
crossed." 

"  'Fraid  cat!  "  says  she.  "  But  here's  the 
house,  and  we're  frightfully  early.  Now  don't 
act  as  though  you  thought  I  might  bite  you.  I  'm 
going  to  take  your  arm. ' ' 

She  does  too,  and  cuddles  up  kittenish  as  we 
lands  at  the  porte  cochere.  I  gets  the  idea  of 
this  move.  She's  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  little 
group  over  by  the  front  door,  and  she  wants  to 
make  a  showy  entrance. 

And  who  do  you  guess  it  is  we  finds  arrangin' 
the  flower  vases?  Oh,  only  Marjorie  and  Miss 
Vee.  Here  I  am  too,  with  giddy  Gladys,  the 
imitation  front  row  girl,  clingin'  tight  to  my 
right  wing.  You  should  have  seen  Vee's  eye 
brows  go  up,  also  Marjorie 's  stare.  It's  a 
minute  or  so  before  she  recognizes  our  little 
friend,  and  stands  there  lookin'  puzzled  at  us. 


GLADYS  IN  A  DOUBLE  BILL      141 

Talk  about  your  embarrassin'  stage  waits!  I 
could  feel  my  face  pinkin'  up  and  my  ears 
tinglin'. 

"  Ah,  say,"  I  breaks  out,  "  don't  tell  me  IVe 
gone  and  collected  the  wrong  one!  " 

At  that  there  comes  a  giggle  from  under  the 
zippy  lid. 

"  Why,  it's  Gladys!  "  says  Marjorie.  "  Well, 
I  never!  " 

"  Of  course,  you  dear  old  goose!  "  says 
Gladys,  and  rushes  to  a  clinch. 

"  But — but,  Gladys!  "  says  Marjorie,  holdin' 
her  off  for  another  inspection.  "  How  you 
have — er — grown  up !  Why,  your  mother  never 
told  me  a  word!  " 

"  Oh,  Mummah!  "  says  she,  indicatin'  deep 
scorn.  "  Besides,  she  hasn't  seen  me  for  nearly 
two  days,  and — well,  I  suppose  she  will  fuss,  as 
usual,  about  the  way  I'm  dressed.  But  I've  had 
a  perfectly  glorious  visit,  and  coming  up 
in  the  car  with  dear  Torchy  was  such  sport. 
Wrasn't  it,  now?  "  With  which  she  turns 
to  me. 

"  Was  it?  "  says  I,  and  I  notices  both  Vee 
and  Marjorie  gazin'  at  me  int 'rested. 

"  Of  course,"  says  Gladys,  prattlin'  on,  "  we 
quarreled  all  the  way  up;  but  it  was  all  his 
fault,  and  he — oh,  phsaw !  Here  come  my  dear 
parents." 

Takin'   Gladys   as   a   sample,   you'd  never 


142  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

guessed  it;  for  Mother  is  a  quiet,  modest  ap- 
pearin'  little  party,  with  her  wavy  brown  hair 
parted  in  the  middle  and  brushed  back  low. 
She's  wearin'  her  own  complexion  too,  and, 
while  she's  dressed  more  or  less  neat  and 
stylish,  she  don't  sport  ear  danglers,  or  any 
thing  like  that.  With  Father  in  the  background 
she  comes  sailin'  up  smilin',  and  it  ain't  until 
she  gets  a  peek  under  the  mush-bowl  lid  that 
her  expression  changes. 

"  Why,  Gladys!  "  she  gasps. 

11  Now,  Mummah!  "  protests  Gladys  peevish. 
"  For  goodness  sake  don't  begin — anyway,  not 
here !  ' ' 

11  But — but,  my  dear!  "  goes  on  Mother,  star- 
in'  at  her  shocked.  "  That— that  hat!  And 
your  hair!  And — and  your  face!  ': 

11  Oh,  bother!  "  says  Gladys,  stampin'  her 
high-heeled  pump.  "  You'd  like  to  have  me 
dress  like  Cousin  Tilly,  I  suppose?  ' 

"  But  you  know  I  asked  you  not  to — to  have 
that  done  to  your  hair  again,"  says  Mother. 

11  And  I  said  I  would,  so  there !  "  says  Gladys 
emphatic. 

Mother  sighs  and  turns  to  Father,  who  is 
makin'  his  inspection  with  a  weary  look  on  his 
face.  He's  just  an  average,  stout-built,  good- 
natured  lookin'  duck,  Father  is,  a  little  bald  in 
front,  and  just  now  he's  rubbin'  the  bald  spot 
sort  of  aimless. 


GLADYS  IN  A  DOUBLE  BILL      143 

"  You  see,  Arthur,"  says  Mother.  "  Can't 
you  do  something?  " 

First  Father  scowls,  and  then  he  flushes  up. 
«  Why— er— ah— oh,  blast  it  all,  Sallie,  don't 
put  it  up  to  me!  "  says  he.  Then  he  pulls  out 
a  long  black  cigar,  bites  the  end  off  savage,  and 
beats  it  around  the  corner. 

That  was  a  brilliant  move  of  his ;  for  Mother 
turns  out  to  be  one  of  the  weepy  kind,  and  in  a 
minute  more  she's  slumped  into  a  chair  and  is 
sobbin'  away.  She's  sure  she  don't  know  why 
Gladys  should  do  such  things.  Hadn't  she  for 
bid  her  to  use  so  much  rouge  and  powder? 
Hadn't  she  asked  her  not  to  wear  those  hideous 
ear  jewels  ?  And  so  on  and  so  on,  with  Gladys 
standin'  back  poutin'  defiant.  But,  say,  when 
they  get  too  big  to  spank,  what  else  can  Father 
and  Mother  do? 

Fin'lly  Vee  seems  to  have  an  idea.  She  whis 
pers  it  into  Marjorie's  ear,  slips  into  the  house, 
and  comes  back  with  a  hand  mirror  and  a  damp 
washcloth,  which  she  proceeds  to  offer  to 
Gladys,  suggestin'  that  she  use  it. 

"  Indeed  I  sha'n't!  "  says  Gladys,  her  big 
eyes  flashin'  scrappy.  "  I  shall  stay  just  as  I 
am,  and  if  Mother  wants  to  be  foolish  she  can 
get  over  it,  that's  all!  "  And  Gladys  switches 
over  to  a  porch  chair  and  slams  herself 
into  it. 

Vee  looks  at  her  a  minute,  and  then  bites  her 


144  ON  WITH  TOECHY 

upper  lip  like  she  was  keepin'  back  some  re 
marks.  Next  she  whispers  again  to  Marjorie, 
who  passes  it  on  to  Mother,  and  then  the  three 
of  'em  disappears  in  the  house,  leavin'  Gladys 
poutin'  on  one  side  of  the  front  door,  and  me 
in  a  porch  swing  on  the  other  waitin'  for  the 
next  act. 

Must  have  been  ten  minutes  or  more  before 
the  two  plotters  appears  again,  chattin'  away 
merry  with  Mother,  who's  between  'em.  And, 
say,  you  should  have  seen  Mother !  Talk  about 
your  startlin'  changes!  They'd  been  busy  with 
the  make-up  box,  them  two  had,  and  now  Moth 
er's  got  on  just  as  much  war  paint  as  Daughter 
• — maybe  a  little  more.  Also  they've  dug  up  a 
blond  transformation  somewhere,  which  covers 
up  all  the  brown  hair,  and  they've  fitted  her 
out  with  long  jet  earrings,  and  touched  up  her 
eyebrows — and,  believe  me,  with  all  that  yellow 
hair  down  over  her  eyes,  and  the  rouged  lips, 
she  looks  just  like  she'd  strayed  in  from  the 
White  Light  district ! 

You  wouldn't  think  just  a  little  store  hair  and 
face  calcimine  could  make  such  a  change  in  any 
body.  Honest,  when  I  tumbles  to  the  fact  that 
this  sporty  lookin'  female  is  only  Mother  fixed 
up  I  almost  falls  out  of  the  swing!  That's 
nothin'  to  the  jolt  that  gets  to  Gladys. 

"  Mother!  "  she  gasps.  "  Wha — what  have 
you  been  doing?  " 


GLADYS  IN  A  DOUBLE  BILL      145 

"  Why,  I've  been  getting  ready  for  the  tea, 
Gladys,"  says  she. 

"  But — but,  Mother,"  says  Gladys,  "  you're 
never  going  to  let  people  see  you  like  that,  are 
you?  " 

"  Why  not,  my  dear?  "  says  Mother. 

"  But  your  face — ugh!  "  says  Gladys. 

"  Oh,  bother!  "  says  Mother.  "  I  suppose 
you'd  like  to  have  me  look  like  Aunt  Martha?  " 

Gladys  stares  at  her  for  awhile  with  her  eyes 
wide  and  set,  like  she  was  watchin'  somethin' 
horrible  that  she  couldn't  turn  away  from,  and 
then  she  goes  to  pieces  in  a  weepin'  fit  of  her 
own.  Nobody  interferes,  and  right  in  the  midst 
of  it  she  breaks  off,  marches  over  to  a  wicker 
porch  table  where  the  mirror  and  washcloth 
had  been  left,  props  the  glass  up  against  a  vase, 
and  goes  to  work.  First  off  she  sheds  the  pearl 
earrings. 

At  that  Mother  sits  down  opposite  and  fol 
lows  suit  with  her  jet  danglers. 

Next  Gladys  mops  off  the  scenic  effect. 

Marjorie  produces  another  washcloth,  and 
Mother  makes  a  clean  sweep  too. 

Gladys  snatches  out  a  handful  of  gold  hair 
pins,  destroys  the  turban  twist  that  Marie  had 
spent  so  much  time  buildin'  up,  and  knots  her 
hair  simple  in  the  back. 

Mother  caps  this  by  liftin'  off  the  blond 
transformation. 


146  ON  WITH  TOECHY 

And  as  I  left  for  a  stroll  around  the  grounds 
they'd  both  got  back  to  lookin'  more  or  less  nice 
and  natural.  They  had  gone  to  a  close  clinch 
and  was  sobbin'  affectionate  on  each  other's 
shoulders. 

Later  the  tea  got  under  way  and  went  on  as 
such  things  gen 'rally  do,  with  folks  comin'  and 
goin',  and  a  buzz  of  chin  music  that  you  could 
hear  clear  out  to  the  gate,  where  I  was  waitin' 
with  Martin  until  we  should  get  the  signal  to 
start  back. 

I  didn't  know  just  how  it  would  be,  but  I  sus 
pected  I  might  be  invited  to  ride  in  front  on  the 
home  trip.  I'd  made  up  my  mind  to  start  there, 
anyway.  But,  say,  when  the  time  comes  and 
Vee  trips  out  to  the  limousine,  where  I'm 
holdin'  the  door  open  and  lookin'  sheepish,  I 
takes  a  chance  on  a  glance  into  them  gray  eyes 
of  hers.  I  got  a  chill  too.  It's  only  for  a  sec 
ond,  though.  She  was  doing  her  best  to  look 
cold  and  distant;  but  behind  that  I  could  spot 
a  smile.  So  I  changes  the  programme. 

"  Say,"  says  I,  followin'  her  in  and  shuttin' 
the  door,  "  wa'n't  that  kid  Gladys  the  limit, 
though 1  " 

"  Why,"  says  she,  givin'  me  the  quizzin' 
stare,  "  I  thought  you  had  just  loads  of  fun 
coming  up." 

"  Hearing  which  cruel  words,"  says  I,  "  our 
hero  strode  moodily  into  his  castle." 


GLADYS  IN  A  DOUBLE  BILL      147 

Vee  snickers  at  that.  "  And  locked  the 
haughty  maiden  out  in  the  cold,  I  suppose?  " 
says  she. 

"  If  it  was  you,"  says  I,  "  I'd  take  the  gate 
off  the  hinges." 

"  Silly!  "  says  she.  "  Do  you  know,  Gladys 
looked  real  sweet  afterward." 

"  I'll  bet  the  reform  don't  last,  though,"  says 
I.  *  *  But  that  was  a  great  scheme  of  yours  for 
persuadin'  her  to  scrub  off  the  stencil  work. 
There's  so  many  of  that  kind  nowadays,  maybe 
the  idea  would  be  worth  copyrightin '.  What  do 
you  think,  Vee!  " 

Never  mind  the  rest,  though.  We  had  a  per 
fectly  good  ride  back,  and  up  to  date  Aunty  ain't 
wise  to  it. 

Of  course  by  next  mornin'  too  Mr.  Kobert  has 
forgot  all  about  the  afternoon  before,  and  he 
seems  surprised  when  I  puts  in  an  expense  bill 
of  twenty-five  cents. 

"  What's  this  for?  "  says  he. 

11  Gumdrops  for  little  Gladys,"  says  I,  and 
as  he  forks  over  a  quarter  I  never  cracks  a 
smile. 

Wait  until  he  hears  the  returns  from  Mar- 
jorie,  though !  I  '11  give  him  some  string  to  pay 
up  for  that  kindergarten  steer  of  his.  Watch 
me! 


CHAPTER  IX 

LATE  EETUENS  ON  POPOVEB 

"  WELL?  "  says  I,  keepin'  my  feet  up  on  the 
desk  and  glancin'  casual  over  the  brass  rail. 
"  What's  your  complaint,  Spaghetti?  " 

It's  a  wrong  guess,  to  begin  with;  but  I 
wa'n't  even  takin'  the  trouble  to  place  him 
accurate.  He's  some  kind  of  a  foreigner,  and 
that's  enough.  Besides,  from  the  fidgety  way 
he's  grippin'  his  hat  in  both  hands,  and  the 
hesitatin',  sidlin'  style  he  has  of  makin'  his  ap 
proach,  I  figured  he  must  be  a  stray  that  had 
got  the  wrong  number. 

"  If — if  you  please,  Sir,"  says  he,  bowin' 
elaborate  and  humble,  "  Mr.  Eobert  Ellins." 

1 '  Gwan !  ' '  says  I.  ' '  You  read  that  on  the 
floor  directory.  You  don't  know  Mr.  Robert." 
But — but  if  you  please,  Sir,"  he  goes  on, 

I  wish  to  speak  with  him." 

"  You  do,  eh?  "  says  I.  "  Now,  ain't  that 
cute  of  you  ?  Think  you  can  pick  out  any  name 
on  the  board  and  drift  in  for  a  chat,  do  you? 
Come  now,  what  you  peddlin' — dollar  safety 
razors,  bullpups,  or  what?  " 

148 


I  I 
i  I 


LATE  RETURNS  ON  POPOVER  149 

He  ain't  a  real  live  wire,  this  heavy-faced, 
wide-shouldered,  squatty-built  party  with  the 
bumper  crop  of  curly  black  hair.  He  blinks  his 
big,  full  eyes  kind  of  solemn,  starin'  at  me 
puzzled,  and  about  as  intelligent  as  a  cow  gazin* 
over  a  fence.  An  odd  lookin'  gink  he  was,  sort 
of  a  cross  between  a  dressed  up  bartender  on 
his  day  off  and  a  longshoreman  havin'  his  pic 
ture  taken. 

"  Excuse,"  says  he,  rousin'  a  little,  "  but — 
but  it  is  not  to  peddle.  I  would  wish  to  speak 
with  Mr.  Robert  Ellins." 

"  Well,  then,  you  can't,"  says  I,  wavin'  to 
wards  the  door ;  "  so  beat  it !  " 

This  don't  make  any  more  impression  than  as 
if  I'd  tried  to  push  him  over  with  one  finger. 
"  I  would  wish,"  he  begins  again,  "  to  speak 
with " 

"  Say,  that's  all  on  the  record,"  says  I,  "  and 
the  motion's  been  denied." 

11  But  I "  he  starts  in  once  more,  "  I 

have " 

Just  then  Piddie  comes  turkeyin'  over  pomp 
ous  and  demands  to  know  what  all  the  debate 
is  about. 

''Look  what  wants  to  see  Mr.  Robert! ': 
says  I. 

"  Impossible!  "  says  Piddie,  takin'  one  look. 
"  Send  him  away  at  once!  " 


150  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

"  Hear  that?  "  says  I  to  Curlylocks.  "  Not 
a  chance !  Fade,  Spaghetti,  fade !  ' ' 

The  full  force  of  that  decision  seems  to  pene 
trate  his  nut;  for  he  gulps  hard  once  or  twice, 
the  muscles  on  his  thick  throat  swells  up  rigid, 
and  next  a  big  round  tear  leaks  out  of  his  off 
eye  and  trickles  down  over  his  cheek.  Maybe 
it  don't  look  some  absurd  too,  seein'  signs  of 
such  deep  emotion  on  a  face  like  that. 

' '  Now,  none  of  that,  my  man !  ' '  puts  in  Pid- 
die,  who's  as  chicken  hearted  as  he  is  peevish. 
"  Torchy,  you — you  attend  to  him." 

11  "What '11  I  do,"  says  I,  "  call  in  a  plumber 
to  stop  the  leak?  " 

"  Find  out  who  he  is  and  what  he  wants," 
says  he,  "  and  then  pack  him  off.  I  am  very 
busy. ' ' 

"  Well,"  says  I,  turnin'  to  the  thick  guy, 
"  what's  the  name?  " 

"  Me?  "  says  he.  "  I — I  am  Zandra  Popo- 
koulis." 

"  Help!  "  says  I.  "  Popo — here,  write  it  on 
the  pad."  But  even  when  he's  done  that  I 
can't  do  more  than  make  a  wild  stab  at  sayin' 
it.  "  Oh  yes,  thanks,"  I  goes  on.  "  Popover 
for  short,  eh?  Think  Mr.  Robert  would  recog 
nize  you  by  that?  ' 

"  Excuse,  Sir,"  says  he,  "  but  at  the  club  he 
would  speak  to  me  as  Mike." 

"  Oh,  at  the  club,  eh?  "  says  I.    "  Say,  I'm 


LATE  BETUENS  ON  POPOVER     151 

beginnin'  to  get  a  glimmer.  Been  workin'  at 
one  of  Mr.  Robert's  clubs,  have  you?  " 

"  I  am  his  waiter  for  long  time,  Sir,"  says 
Popover. 

Course,  the  rest  was  simple.  He'd  quit  two 
or  three  months  ago  to  take  a  trip  back  home, 
havin'  been  promised  by  the  head  steward  that 
he  could  have  his  place  again  any  time  inside 
of  a  year.  But  imagine  the  base  perfidy!  A 
second  cousin  of  the  meat  chef  has  drifted  in 
meanwhile,  been  set  to  work  at  Popover 's  old 
tables,  and  the  result  is  that  when  Mike  reports 
to  claim  his  job  he  gets  the  cold,  heartless 
chuck. 

"  Why  not  rustle  another,  then?  "  says  I. 

You'd  thought,  though,  to  see  the  gloomy  way 
he  shakes  his  head,  that  this  was  the  last  chance 
he  had  left.  I  gather  too  that  club  jobs  are 
fairly  well  paid,  steadier  than  most  kinds  of 
work,  and  harder  to  pick  up. 

"  Also,"  he  adds,  sort  of  shy,  "  there  is 
Armina. ' ' 

' '  Oh,  always !  ' '  says  I.  ' '  Bunch  of  mil 
linery  in  the  offing.  It  never  fails.  You're  her 
steady,  eh?  " 

Popover  smiles  grateful  and  pours  out  de 
tails.  Armina  was  a  fine  girl,  likewise  rich — 
oh,  yes.  Her  father  had  a  flower  jobbin'  busi 
ness  on  West  28th-st. — very  grand.  For  Ar 
mina  he  had  ideas.  Any  would-be  son-in-law 


152  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

must  be  in  business  too.  Yet  there  was  a  way. 
He  would  take  in  a  partner  with  two  hundred 
and  fifty  dollars  cash.  And  Mr.  Popokoulis  had 
saved  up  nearly  that  much  when  he'd  got  this 
fool  notion  of  goin'  back  home  into  his  head. 
Now  here  he  was  flat  broke  and  carryin'  the 
banner.  It  was  not  only  a  case  of  goin'  hungry, 
but  of  losin'  out  on  the  fair  Armina.  Hence 
the  eye  moisture. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  says  I.  "  But  the  weeps  won't 
help  any.  And,  even  if  Mr.  Robert  would  listen 
to  all  this  sad  tale,  it's  ten  to  one  he  wouldn't 
butt  in  at  the  club.  I  might  get  a  chance  to  put 
it  up  to  him,  though.  Suppose  you  drop  in  to 
morrow  sometime,  and  I'll  let  you  know." 

"  But  I  would  wish,"  says  Popover,  "  to 
speak  with " 

' '  Ah,  ditch  it !  "  I  breaks  in  weary.  * '  Say, 
you  must  have  been  takin'  militant  lessons  from 
Maud  Malone.  Look  here!  If  you're  bound 
to  stick  around  and  take  a  long  chance,  camp 
there  on  the  bench.  Mr.  Robert's  busy  inside 
now;  but  if  he  should  get  through  before  lunch 
— well,  we'll  see.  But  don't  go  bankin'  on  any 
thing." 

And  it  was  a  lovely  sample  of  arrested  men 
tal  anguish  that  I  has  before  me  for  the  next 
hour  or  so, — this  Popokoulis  gent,  with  his 
great,  doughy  face  frozen  into  a  blank  stare, 
about  as  expressive  as  a  half-baked  squash  pie, 


LATE  RETURNS  ON  POPOVER     153 

his  eyes  fixed  on  the  opposite  wall,  and  only  now 
and  then  a  spasm  in  his  throat  showin'  that  he. 
was  still  thinkin'  an  occasional  thought. 

Course,  Piddie  discovers  him  after  a  while 
and  demands  pettish,  "  That  person  still  here! 
Who  is  he!  " 

"  Club  waiter  with  a  mislaid  job,"  says  I., 

"  What!  "  says  Piddie.  "  A  waiter?  Just 
a  common  waiter1?  ' 

I  couldn't  begin  to  put  in  all  the  deep  dis 
gust  that  Piddie  expresses;  for,  along  with 
his  fondness  for  gettin'  next  to  swell  people,, 
he  seems  to  have  a  horror  of  mixin'  at  all  with 
the  common  herd.  ''Waiters!"  he  sniffs. 
"  The  scum  of  mankind.  If  they  had  a  spark 
of  courage,  or  a  gleam  of  self  respect,  or  a  tea- 
spoonful  of  brains,  they  wouldn't  be  waiters- 
Bah!  " 

"  Also  I  expect,"  says  I,  "if  they  was  all 
noble  specimens  of  manhood  like  us,  Sherry's, 
and  Rector 's  would  have  to  be  turned  into  auto 
matic  food  dispensaries,  eh?  ' 

"  No  fear!  "  says  Piddie.  "  The  lower 
classes  will  always  produce  enough  spineless 
beings  to  wear  aprons  and  carry  trays.  Look  at 
that  one  there!  I  suppose  he  never  has  a 
thought  or  an  ambition  above " 

Bz-z-z-zt !  goes  the  buzzer  over  my  desk,  and 
I'm  off  on  the  jump  for  Mr.  Robert's  room.  I 
wa'n't  missin'  any  of  his  calls  that  mornin';  for 


154  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

a  partic'lar  friend  of  mine  was  in  there — Skid 
Mallory.  Remember  Skid,  the  young  college 
hick  that  I  helped  find  his  footin'  when  he  first 
hit  the  Corrugated?  You  know  he  married  a 
Senator's  daughter,  and  got  boosted  into  an 
assistant  general  manager's  berth.  And  Skid's 
been  making  good  ever  since.  He'd  just  come 
back  from  a  little  trip  abroad,  sort  of  a  delayed 
weddin'  tour,  and  you  can't  guess  what  he'd 
pulled  off. 

I'd  only  heard  it  sketched  out  so  far,  but  it 
seems  while  him  and  young  Mrs.  Mallory  was 
over  there  in  Athens,  or  some  such  outlandish 
place,  this  late  muss  with  the  Turks  was  just 
breakin '  loose.  Skid  he  leaves  Wif  ey  at  the  hotel 
one  mornin'  while  he  goes  out  for  a  little  stroll; 
drifts  down  their  Newspaper  Row,  where  the 
red  ink  war  extras  are  so  thick  the  street  looks 
like  a  raspberry  patch ;  follows  the  drum  music 
up  as  far  as  City  Hall,  where  the  recruits  are 
bein'  reviewed  by  the  King;  listens  to  the  Greek 
substitute  for  ' '  Ruh-ruh-ruh !  Soak  'em !  ' ' 
and  the  next  thing  he  knows  he's  wavin'  his 
lid  and  yellin'  with  the  best  of  'em. 

It  must  have  stirred  up  some  of  that  old 
football  fightin'  blood  of  his ;  for  he'd  organized 
a  reg'lar  cheerin'  section,  right  there  opposite 
to  the  royal  stand,  and  was  whoopin'  things  up 
like  it  was  fourth  down  and  two  to  go  on  the 
five-yard  line,  when  all  of  a  sudden  over  pikes 


LATE  RETURNS  ON  POPOVER     155 

a  Colonel  or  something  from  the  King's  staff 
and  begins  poundin'  Skid  on  the  back  gleeful. 

It's  a  young  Greek  that  used  to  be  in  his  en- 
gineerin'  class,  back  in  the  dear  old  college  days. 
He  says  Skid's  just  the  man  he  wants  to  come 
help  him  patch  up  the  railroad  that  the  Turks 
have  been  puttin'  on  the  blink  as  they  dropped 
back  towards  headquarters.  Would  he?  Why, 
him  bein'  railroad  construction  expert  of  the 
Corrugated,  this  was  right  in  his  line !  Sure  he 
would ! 

And  when  Mrs.  Mallory  sees  him  again  at 
lunchtime  he's  all  costumed  as  a  Major  in  the 
Greek  army,  and  is  about  to  start  for  the  scene 
of  atrocities.  That's  Skid,  all  over.  He  wa'n't 
breathin'  out  any  idle  gusts,  either.  He  not 
only  rebuilds  their  bloomin'  old  line  better 'n 
new,  so  they  can  rush  soldiers  and  supplies  to 
the  front;  but  after  the  muss  is  all  over  he 
springs  his  order  book  on  the  gover'ment  and 
lands  such  a  whackin'  big  contract  for  steel 
rails  and  girders  that  Old  Hickory  decides  to 
work  day  and  night  shifts  in  two  more  rollin* 
mills. 

Course,  since  it  was  Mr.  Robert  who  helped 
me  root  for  Skid  in  the  first  place,  he's  tickled 
to  death,  and  he  tells  me  confidential  how 
they're  goin'  to  get  the  directors  together  at 
a  big  banquet  that  evenin'  and  have  a  reg'lar 
lovefeast,  with  Skid  at  the  head  of  the  table. 


156  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

Just  now  I  finds  Mr.  Robert  pumpin'  him  for 
some  of  the  details  of  his  experience  over  there, 
and  after  I  lugs  in  an  atlas  they  sent  me  out  for, 
so  Skid  can  point  out  something  on  the  map, 
I  just  naturally  hangs  around  with  my  ear 
stretched. 

"  Ah,  that's  the  place,"  says  Skid,  puttin'  his 
finger  on  a  dot,  * '  Mustapha !  Well,  it  was  about 
six  miles  east  from  there  that  we  had  our  worst 
job.  Talk  about  messes !  Those  Turks  may  not 
know  how  to  build  a  decent  railroad,  but  believe 
me  they're  stars  at  wrecking  a  line  thoroughly! 
At  Mustapha  they'd  ripped  up  the  rails,  burned 
the  ties,  and  blown  great  holes  in  the  roadbed 
with  dynamite.  But  I  soon  had  a  dozen  grad 
ing  gangs  at  work  on  that  stretch,  and  new 
bridges  started,  and  then  I  pushed  on  alone  to 
see  what  was  next. 

"  That  was  when  I  got  nearest  to  the  big 
noise.  Off  across  the  hills  the  Turks  were 
pounding  away  with  their  heavy  guns,  and  I 
was  anxious  for  a  look.  I  kept  going  and  going; 
but  couldn't  find  any  of  our  people.  Night  was 
shutting  in  too,  and  the  first  thing  I  knew  I 
wasn't  anywhere  in  particular,  with  nothing  in 
sight  but  an  old  sheep  pen.  I  tried  bunking 
there;  but  it  wasn't  restful,  and  before  daylight 
I  went  wandering  on  again.  I  wanted  to  locate 
our  advance  and  get  a  cup  of  coffee. 

"  I  must  have  gone  a  couple  of  miles  farther, 


LATE  RETUKNS  ON  POPOVER     157 

and  it  was  getting  light,  when  a  most  infernal 
racket  broke  loose  not  one  hundred  yards  ahead. 
Really,  you  know,  I  thought  I'd  blundered  into 
the  midst  of  a  battle.  Then  in  a  minute  the 
noise  let  up,  and  the  smoke  blew  away,  and 
there,  squatting  behind  a  machine  gun  up  on  the 
side  of  a  hill,  was  one  lone  Greek  soldier.  Not 
another  soul  in  sight,  mind  you;  just  this  ab 
surd,  dirty,  smoke-stained  person,  calmly  feed 
ing  another  belt  of  cartridges  into  his  gun! 

"  '  Hello !  '  says  I.  '  What  the  deuce  are  you 
doing  here?  ' — *  Holding  the  hill,  Sir,'  says  he, 
in  good  United  States.  *  Not  all  alone?  '  says 
I.  He  shrugs  his  shoulders  at  that.  '  The 
others  were  killed  or  hurt,'  says  he.  '  The  Red 
Cross  people  took  them  all  away  last  night, — 
Lieutenant,  Sergeant,  everyone.  But  our  bat 
tery  must  keep  the  hill.'  '  Where's  the  rest 
of  the  advance,  though?  '  says  I.  l  I  don't 
know,'  says  he.  '  And  you  mean  to  say,'  says  I, 
'  you've  been  here  all  night  with  the  Turkish 
artillery  hammering  away  at  you  ?  '  '  They  are 
bad  shots,  those  Turks,  very  bad,'  says  he. 
'  Also  they  send  infantry  to  drive  me  away, 
many  times.  See !  There  come  some  more. 
Down  there!  Ah-r-r-r!  You  will,  will  you?  * 
And  with  that  he  turns  loose  his  big  pepperbox 
on  a  squad  that  had  just  started  to  dash  out 
of  a  ravine  and  rush  him.  They  were  coming 
our  way  on  the  jump.  Scared?  Say,  if  there 'd 


158  ON  WITH  TOUCHY 

been  anything  to  have  crawled  into,  I'd  have 
been  in  it!  As  there  wasn't,  I  just  flattened 
myself  on  the  ground  and  waited  until  it  was 
all  over. 

"  Oh,  he  crumpled  'em  up,  all  right!  He 
hadn't  ground  out  one  belt  of  cartridges  before 
he  had  'em  on  the  run.  But  I  want  to  tell  you 
I  didn't  linger  around  to  see  how  the  next  affair 
would  turn  out.  I  legged  it  back  where  I'd  come 
from,  and  by  nine  o'clock  I  was  behind  our  own 
lines,  trying  to  find  out  what  sort  of  campaign 
this  was  that  left  one  machine  gun  to  stave  off 
the  whole  Turkish  army.  Of  course  no  one 
knew  anything  very  definite.  The  best  guess 
was  that  our  advance  had  been  swung  off  for  a 
flank  movement,  and  that  this  particular  one- 
man  battery  had  been  overlooked.  I  don't  even 
know  whether  he  was  picked  up  again,  or 
whether  the  Turks  finally  got  him;  but  let  me 
tell  you,  talk  as  much  about  your  gallant  Bul 
garians  as  you  like,  some  of  those  little  Greeks 
were  good  fighters  too.  Anyway,  I'll  take  off 
my  hat  any  day  to  that  one  on  the  hill." 

"  Gee!  "  I  breaks  out.  "  Some  scrapper, 
what?  " 

At  which  Mr.  Eobert  swings  around  and 
gives  me  a  look.  "  Ah!  "  says  he.  "  I  hadn't 
realized,  Torchy,  that  we  still  had  the  pleasure 
of  your  company." 

"  Don't  mention  it,"  says  I.    "I  was  just 


LATE  RETURNS  ON  POPOVER  159 

go  in'  to — er — by  the  way,  Mr.  Robert,  there's 
a  poor  scrub  waitin'  outside  for  a  word  with 
you,  an  old  club  waiter.  Says  you  knew  him  as 
Mike." 

"  Mike?  "  says  he,  looking  blank. 

"  His  real  name  sounds  like  Popover,"  says 
I.  "  It's  a  case  of  retrievin'  a  lost  job." 

"  Oh,  very  well,"  says  Mr.  Robert.  "  Per 
haps  I'll  see  him  later.  Not  now.  And  close  the 
door  after  you,  please." 

So  I'm  shunted  back  to  the  front  office,  so 
excited  over  that  war  story  that  I  has  to  hunt 
up  Piddie  and  pass  it  on  to  him.  It  gets  him 
too.  Anything  in  the  hero  line  always  does,  and 
this  noble  young  Greek  doin'  the  come-one- 
come-all  act  was  a  picture  that  even  a  two-by- 
four  imagination  like  Piddie 's  couldn't  fail  to 
grasp. 

* '  By  Jove,  though !  ' '  says  he.  * '  The  spirit 
of  old  Thermopylae  all  over  again!  I  wish  I 
could  have  seen  that !  ' ' 

1  i  As  close  as  Skid  did  ?  ' '  says  I.  * '  Ah,  you  'd 
have  turned  so  green  they'd  taken  you  for  a 
pickled  string  bean." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  pretend  to  be  a  daredevil,"  ad 
mits  Piddie,  with  a  sudden  rush  of  modesty. 
"  Still,  it  is  a  pity  Mr.  Mallory  did  not  stay 
long  enough  to  find  out  the  name  of  this  un 
known  hero,  and  give  it  to  the  world." 

"  The  moral  of  which  is,"  says  I,  "  that  all 


160  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

heroes  ought  to  carry  their  own  press  agents 
with  'em." 

We'd  threshed  it  all  out,  Piddie  and  me,  and 
I'd  gone  back  to  my  desk  some  reluctant,  for 
this  jobless  waiter  was  still  sheddin'  his  gloom 
around  the  reception  room,  and  I  was  just  think- 
in'  how  it  would  be  to  put  a  screen  in  front  of 
him,  when  Mr.  Eobert  and  Skid  comes  out  arm 
in  arm,  swappin'  josh  about  that  banquet  that 
was  to  be  pulled  off. 

"  Of  course  you'll  come."  Mr.  Robert  is  in- 
sistin'.  "  Only  a  few  directors,  you  know. 
No,  no  set  speeches,  or  anything  like  that.  But 
they'll  want  to  hear  how  you  came  to  get  that 
big  order,  and  about  some  of  the  interesting 
things  you  saw  over  there,  just  as  you've  told 
me." 

I  had  hopped  up  and  was  holdin'  the  gate 
wide  open,  givin'  Skid  all  the  honors,  and  Mr. 
Robert  was  escortin'  him  out  to  the  elevator, 
when  I  notices  that  this  Popover  party  has  got 
Ms  eye  on  the  boss  and  is  standin'  right  where 
lie's  blockin'  the  way. 

' '  Hey,  Poppy !  ' '  says  I  in  a  stage  whisper. 
*'  Back  out!  Reverse  yourself!  Take  a 
sneak!"  But  of  all  the  muleheads !  There  he 
stands,  grippin'  his  hat,  and  thinkin'  only  of 
that  lost  job. 

"  All  right,"  Skid  is  saying;  "  but  remember 
now,  no  floral  tributes,  or  gushy  introductions, 


LATE  KETUENS  ON  POPOVER     161 

or  sitting  in  the  spotlight  for  me  at  this — er — 

er Well,  as  I'm  a  living  mortal!  "  He 

gets  this  last  out  after  a  gasp  or  two,  and  then 
stops  stock  still,  starin'  straight  in  front  of 
him. 

"  What  is  it?  "  says  Mr.  Robert.  "  What's 
up?  "  And  we  sees  that  Skid  Mallory  has  his 
eyes  glued  to  this  waiter  shrimp. 

"  In  the  name  of  all  that's  good,"  says  he, 
"  where  did  you  come  from?  " 

You  can't  jar  Popover,  though,  by  any  lit 
tle  thing  like  that.  When  he  gets  an  idea  in  his 
dome  it's  a  fixture  there.  "  I  would  wish  to 
speak,"  says  he,  "  with  Mr.  Ellins." 

"  Yes,  yes,  another  time,"  says  Mr.  Robert 
hasty. 

"  But  see  here!  "  says  Skid,  still  gazin' 
steady.  "  Don't  you  remember  me?  Take  a 
good  look  now." 

Popover  gives  him  a  glance  and  shakes  his 
head.  "  Maybe  I  serve  you  at  the  club,  Sir," 
says  he. 

"  Club  be  blowed!  "  says  Skid.  "  The  last 
time  I  saw  you  you  were  serving  a  machine  gun, 
six  miles  east  of  Mustapha.  Isn't  that  so?  ' 

* '  Oh,  Mustapha !  ' '  says  Popover,  his  eyes 
lightin'  up  a  little.  "  On  the  hill  just  beyond 
where  the  bridge  was  blown  up?  You  came  at 
the  night's  end.  Oh,  yes!  " 

"  I  knew  it !  "  exclaims  Skid.    "I'd  have  bet 


162  ON  WITH  TOUCHY 

a  thousand — same  curly  hair,  same  shoulders, 
same  eyes.  Ellins,  here's  that  lone  hero  I  was 
telling  you  about.  Here!  " 

"  But— but  that's  only  Mike,"  says  Mr.  Rob 
ert,  gazin'  from  one  to  the  other.  "  Used  to 
be  a  waiter  at  the  club,  you  know." 

"  I  don't  care  what  he  used  to  be,"  says 
Skid, ' l  or  what  he  is  now,  I  want  to  shake  hands 
with  him." 

Popover  he  pinks  up  and  acts  foolish  about 
swappin'  grips;  but  Skid  insists. 

"  So  you  beat  'em  out  in  the  end,  did  you?  " 
Skid  goes  on.  "  Just  naturally  put  it  all  over 
that  whole  bunch  of  Turks,  didn't  you?  But 
how  did  it  happen?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  says  Popover,  fingerin'  his 
hat  nervous.  '  '  I  am  very  busy  all  the  time,  and 
— and  I  have  nothing  to  eat  all  night.  You  see, 
all  other  Greek  soldiers  was  hurt;  and  me,  I 
must  stay  to  keep  the  Turks  from  the  hill.  Very 
busy  time,  Sir.  And  I  am  not  much  for  fight, 
anyway. ' ' 

"  Great  Scott!  "  says  Skid.  "  He  says  he's 
not  much  for — but  see  here,  how  did  it  end?  " 

Popover  gives  a  shoulder  shrug.  "  Once 
more  they  run  at  me  after  you  go,"  says  he, 
"  and  then  come  our  brave  Greek  General  with 
big  army  and  chase  Turks  away.  And  the  Cap 
tain  say  why  am  I  such  big  fool  as  to  stay  be 
hind.  That  is  all  I  know.  Three  weeks  ago  I 


LATE  RETURNS  ON  POPOVER     163 

am  discharged  from  being  soldier.  Now  I  come 
back  here,  and  I  have  no  more  my  good  job.  I 
am  much  sorry. ' ' 

"  Think  of  that!  "  breaks  out  Skid.  "  Talk 
about  the  ingratitude  of  Republics !  Why,  Eng 
land  would  have  given  him  the  Victoria  Cross 
for  that !  But  can't  something  or  other  be  done 
about  this  job  of  his?  " 

"  Why,  certainly,"  says  Mr.  Robert.  "  Here, 
let's  go  back  into  my  office." 

"  Hey,  Popover,"  says  I,  steerin'  him  re 
spectful  through  the  gate.  "  Don't  forget  to 
tell  them  about  Armina  too." 

And  as  the  three  of  'em  streams  in,  with  the 
waiter  in  the  middle,  I  turns  to  find  Piddie  gaz- 
in'  at  the  sight  button-eyed. 

"  Wa'n't  you  sayin'  how  much  you'd  like  to 
see  the  lone  hero  of  the  hill?  "  says  I.  "  Well, 
take  a  good  look.  That's  him,  the  squatty  one. 
Uh-huh.  Mike,  alias  Popover,  who  quit  bein' 
a  waiter  to  fight  for  his  country,  and  after  he  'd 
licked  all  the  Turks  in  sight  comes  pikin'  back 
here  to  hunt  around  for  his  tray  again.  Say, 
all  of  'em  ain  't  such  scum,  are  they  ?  ' ' 

It  was  a  great  old  banquet  too ;  for  Skid  in 
sists  that  if  they  must  have  a  conquerin'  hero 
to  drink  to  Mr.  Popokoulis  is  the  only  real  thing 
in  sight.  Mike  wouldn't  stand  for  a  seat  at  the 
table,  though;  so  they  compromised  by  havin' 
him  act  as  head  waiter.  Skid  tells  the  story 


164  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

just  the  same,  and  makes  him  stand  out  where 
they  can  all  see  him.  There  was  some  cheerin' 
done  too.  Mr.  Robert  was  tellin'  me  about  it 
only  this  mornin'. 

"  And  you've  got  him  his  old  place  at  the 
club,  eh?  "  says  I. 

"  No,"  says  he.  "  I've  arranged  to  buy  out  a 
half  interest  in  a  florist's  shop  for  Mr.  Popo- 
koulis. ' ' 

"Oh!"  says  I.  "  Backin'  him  for  the  Ar- 
mina  handicap,  eh?  It  ought  to  be  a  cinch. 
Some  chap,  that  Popover,  even  if  he  was  a 
waiter,  eh?  It's  tough  on  Piddie,  though.  This 
thing  has  tied  all  his  ideas  in  double  bow- 
knots." 


CHAPTER  X 

MERRY  DODGES  A  DEAD  HEAT 

SOMEHOW  I  sensed  it  as  a  kind  of  a  batty  ex 
cursion  at  the  start.  You  see,  he'd  asked  me 
offhand  would  I  come,  and  I'd  said  "  Sure, 
Bo,"  careless  like,  not  thinkin'  any  more  about 
it  until  here  Saturday  afternoon  I  finds  myself 
on  the  way  to  spend  the  week-end  with  J.  Mere 
dith  Stidler. 

Sounds  imposin',  don't  it?  But  his  name's 
the  weightiest  part  of  J.  Meredith.  Course, 
around  the  Corrugated  offices  we  call  him 
Merry,  and  some  of  the  bond  clerks  even  get  it 
Miss  Mary;  which  ain't  hardly  fair,  for  while 
he's  no  husky,  rough-neck  specimen,  there's  no 
sissy  streak  in  him,  either.  Just  one  of  these 
neat,  finicky  featherweights,  J.  Meredith  is; 
a  well  finished  two-by-four,  with  more  polish 
than  punch.  You  know  the  kind, — fussy  about 
his  clothes,  gen 'rally  has  a  pink  or  something 
in  his  coat  lapel,  hair  always  just  so,  and  carries 
a  vest  pocket  mirror.  We  ain't  got  a  classier 
dresser  in  the  shop.  Not  noisy,  you  under 
stand:  quiet  grays,  as  a  rule;  but  made  for  him 
special  and  fittin'  snug  around  the  collar. 

165 


166  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

Near  thirty,  I  should  guess  Merry  was,  and 
single,  of  course.  No  head  of  a  fam'ly  would 
be  sportin'  custom-made  shoes  and  sleeve  mono 
grams,  or  havin'  his  nails  manicured  reg'lar 
twice  a  week.  I'd  often  wondered  how  he  could 
do  it  too,  on  seventy-five  dollars  a  month. 

For  J.  Meredith  wa'n't  even  boss  of  his  de 
partment.  He  just  holds  down  one  of  the  stools 
in  the  audit  branch,  where  he  has  about  as  much 
show  of  gettin'  a  raise  as  a  pavin'  block  has  of 
oein'  blown  up  Broadway  on  a  windy  day.  We 
got  a  lot  of  material  like  that  in  the  Corru 
gated, — just  plain,  simple  cogs  in  a  big  dividend- 
producin'  machine,  grindin'  along  steady  and 
patient,  and  their  places  easy  filled  when  one 
wears  out.  A  caster  off  one  of  the  rolltop  desks 
would  be  missed  more. 

Yet  J.  Meredith  takes  it  cheerful.  Always 
has  a  smile  as  he  pushes  through  the  brass  gate, 
comin'  or  go  in',  and  stands  all  the  joshin'  that's 
handed  out  to  him  without  gettin'  peevish.  So 
when  he  springs  this  over-Sunday  invite  I  don't 
feel  like  turnin'  it  down.  Course,  I'm  wise  that 
it's  sort  of  a  charity  contribution  on  his  part. 
He  puts  it  well,  though. 

"  It  may  be  rather  a  dull  way  for  you  to  pass 
the  day,"  says  he;  "  but  I'd  like  to  have  you 
come. ' ' 

"  Let's  see,"  says  I.  "  Vincent  won't  be  ex- 
pectin'  me  up  to  Newport  until  later  in  the 


MERRY  DODGES  A  DEAD  HEAT  167 

season,  the  Bradley  Martins  are  still  abroad, 
I've  cut  the  Reggy  Vanderbilts,  and — well, 
you're  on,  Merry.  Call  it  the  last  of  the  month, 
eh?  " 

"  The  fourth  Saturday,  then,"  says  he. 
"  Good!  " 

I  was  blamed  near  lettin'  the  date  get  past 
me  too,  when  he  stops  me  as  I'm  pikin'  for  the 
dairy  lunch  Friday  noon.  * '  Oh,  I  say,  Torchy, ' ' 
says  he,  ' '  ah — er — about  tomorrow.  Hope  you 
don't  mind  my  mentioning  it,  but  there  will  be 
two  other  guests — ladies — at  dinner  tomorrow 
night." 

He  seemed  some  fussed  at  gettin'  it  out;  so 
I  catches  the  cue  quick.  "  That's  easy,"  says  I. 
"  Count  me  out  until  another  time." 

"  Oh,  not  at  all,"  says  he.  "  In  fact,  you're 
expected.  I  merely  wished  to  suggest,  you 
know,  that — er — well,  if  you  cared  to  do  so,  you 
might  bring  along  a  suit  of  dark  clothes." 

"  I  get  you,"  says  I.  "  Swell  comp'ny. 
Trust  me." 

I  winks  mysterious,  and  chuckles  to  myself, 
"  Here's  where  I  slip  one  on  J.  Meredith." 
And  when  I  packs  my  suitcase  I  puts  in  that  full 
evenin'  regalia  that  I  wins  off'm  Son-in-Law 
Ferdy,  you  remember,  in  that  real  estate  deal. 
Some  Cinderella  act,  I  judged  that  would  be, 
when  Merry  discovers  the  meek  and  lowly  office 
boy  arrayed  like  a  night-bloomin'  head  waiter. 


168  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

"  That  ought  to  hold  him  for  a  spell,"  thinks  I. 

But,  say,  you  should  see  the  joint  we  fetches 
up  at  out  on  the  south  shore  of  Long  Island 
that  afternoon.  Figurin'  on  a  basis  of  seventy- 
five  per,  I  was  expectin'  some  private  boardin' 
house  where  Merry  has  the  second  floor  front, 
maybe,  with  use  of  the  bath.  But  listen, — a 
clipped  privet  hedge,  bluestone  drive,  flower  gar 
dens,  and  a  perfectly  good  double-breasted  man 
sion  standin'  back  among  the  trees.  It's  a  little 
out  of  date  so  far  as  the  lines  go, — slate  roof, 
jigsaw  work  on  the  dormers,  and  a  cupola, — 
but  it's  more  or  less  of  a  plute  shack,  after  all. 
Then  there's  a  real  live  butler  standin'  at  the 
carriage  entrance  to  open  the  hack  door  and 
take  my  bag. 

' '  Gee !  ' '  says  I.  ' '  Say,  Merry,  who  belongs 
to  all  this?  " 

"  Oh !  Hadn't  I  told  you!  "  says  he.  "  You 
see,  I  live  with  my  aunt.  She  is — er — somewhat 
peculiar;  but— 

"  I  should  worry!  "  I  breaks  in.  "  Believe 
me,  with  a  joint  like  this  in  her  own  name,  I 
wouldn't  kick  if  she  had  her  loft  full  of  hum- 
min'  birds.  Who's  next  in  line  for  it?  ' 

"  Why,  I  suppose  I  am,"  says  J.  Meredith, 
"  under  certain  conditions." 

"  Z-z-zing!  "  says  I.  "  And  you  hangin'  onto 
a  cheap  skate  job  at  the  Corrugated!  ' 

Well,   while   he's    showin'   me    around   the 


MERRY  DODGES  A  DEAD  HEAT  169 

grounds  I  pumps  out  the  rest  of  the  sketch. 
Seems  butlers  and  all  that  was  no  new  thing  to 
Merry.  He'd  been  brought  up  on  'em.  He'd 
lived  abroad  too.  Studied  music  there.  Not 
that  he  ever  meant  to  work  at  it,  but  just  be 
cause  he  liked  it.  You  see,  about  that  time  the 
fam'ly  income  was  rollin'  in  reg'lar  every  month 
from  the  mills  back  in  Pawtucket,  or  Fall  River, 
or  somewhere. 

Then  all  of  a  sudden  things  begin  to  hap 
pen, — strikes,  panics,  stock  grabbin'  by  the 
trusts.  Father's  weak  heart  couldn't  stand  the 
strain.  Meredith's  mother  followed  soon  after. 
And  one  rainy  mornin'  he  wakes  up  in  Baden 
Baden,  or  Monte  Carlo,  or  wherever  it  was,  to 
find  that  he's  a  double  orphan  at  the  age  of 
twenty-two,  with  no  home,  no  cash,  and  no 
trade.  All  he  could  do  was  to  write  an  S.  0.  S. 
message  back  to  Aunt  Emma  Jane.  If  she  had- 
n't  produced,  he'd  been  there  yet. 

But  Aunty  got  him  out  of  pawn.  Panics  and 
so  on  hadn't  cleaned  out  her  share  of  the  Stid- 
ler  estate — not  so  you'd  notice  it!  She'd  been 
on  the  spot,  Aunt  Emma  had,  watchin'  the  mar 
ket.  Long  before  the  jinx  hit  "Wall  Street  she'd 
cashed  in  her  mill  stock  for  gold  ballast,  and 
when  property  prices  started  tumblin'  she  dug 
up  a  lard  pail  from  under  the  syringa  bush  and 
begun  investin'  in  bargain  counter  real  estate. 
Now  she  owns  business  blocks,  villa  plots,  and 


170  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

shore  frontage  in  big  chunks,  and  spends  her 
time  collectin'  rents,  makin'  new  deals,  and 
swearin'  off  her  taxes. 

You'd  most  thought,  with  a  perfectly  good 
nephew  to  blow  in  some  of  her  surplus  on,  she'd 
made  a  fam'ly  pet  of  J.  Meredith.  But  not  her. 
Pets  wa'n't  in  her  line.  Her  prescription  for 
him  was  work,  something  reg'lar  and  constant, 
so  he  wouldn't  get  into  mischief.  She  didn't 
care  what  it  brought  in,  so  long  as  he  kept  him 
self  in  clothes  and  spendin'  money.  And  that 
was  about  Merry's  measure.  He  could  add  up  a 
column  of  figures  and  put  the  sum  down  neat 
at  the  bottom  of  the  page.  So  he  fitted  into  our 
audit  department  like  a  nickel  into  a  slot  ma 
chine.  And  there  he  stuck. 

"  But  after  sportin'  around  Europe  so  long," 
says  I,  "  don't  punchin'  the  time  clock  come 
kind  of  tough?  " 

1 '  It 's  a  horrible,  dull  grind, ' '  says  he.  ' '  Like 
being  caught  in  a  treadmill.  But  I  suppose  I 
deserve  nothing  better.  I'm  one  of  the  useless 
sort,  you  know.  I've  no  liking,  no  ability,  for 
business ;  but  I'm  in  the  mill,  and  I  can't  see  any 
way  out." 

For  a  second  J.  Meredith's  voice  sounds  hope 
less.  One  look  ahead  has  taken  out  of  him  what 
little  pep  he  had.  But  the  next  minute  he  braces 
up,  smiles  weary,  and  remarks,  "  Oh,  well! 
What's  the  use?  " 


Not  knowin'  the  answer  to  that  I  shifts  the 
subject  by  tryin'  to  get  a  line  on  the  other  com- 
p'ny  that's  expected  for  dinner. 

"  They're  our  next-door  neighbors,"  says  he, 
"  the  Misses  Hibbs." 

"  Queens?  "  says  I. 

He  pinks  up  a  little  at  that.  "  I  presume  you 
would  call  them  old  maids,"  says  he.  "  They 
are  about  my  age,  and — er — the  truth  is,  they 
are  rather  large.  But  really  they're  quite 
nice, — refined,  cultured,  all  that  sort  of  thing. ' ' 

"  Specially  which  one?  "  says  I,  givin'  him 
the  wink. 

"  Now,  now!  "  says  he,  shakin'  his  head. 
"  You're  as  bad  as  Aunt  Emma.  Besides, 
they're  her  guests.  She  asks  them  over  quite 
often.  You  see,  they  own  almost  as  much  prop 
erty  around  here  as  she  does,  and — well,  com 
mon  interests,  you  know." 

"  Sure  that's  all?  "  says  I,  noticin'  Merry 
flushin'  up  more. 

' '  Why,  of  course, ' '  says  he.  ' '  That  is — er — 
well,  I  suppose  I  may  as  well  admit  that  Aunt 
Emma  thinks  she  is  trying  her  hand  at  match 
making.  Absurd,  of  course.'7 

'  *  Oh-ho !  ' '  says  I.  ' '  Wants  you  to  annex 
the  adjoinin'  real  estate,  does  she?  " 

"  It — it  isn't  exactly  that,"  says  he.  "  I've 
no  doubt  she  has  decided  that  either  Pansy  or 
Violet  would  make  a  good  wife  for  me." 


172  ON  WITH  TOECHY 

"Pansy  and  Violet!"  says  I.  "Listens 
well." 

"  Perhaps  their  names  are  hardly  appropri 
ate  ;  but  they  are  nice,  sensible,  rather  attractive 
young  women,  both  of  them,"  insists  Merry. 

"  Then  why  not!  "  says  I.  "  What's  the 
matter  with  the  Hymen  proposition?  ' 

"  Oh,  it's  out  of  the  question,"  protests  J. 
Meredith,  blushin'  deep.  "  Really  I — I've 
never  thought  of  marrying  anyone.  Why,  how 
could  I!  And  besides  I  shouldn't  know  how  to 
go  about  it, — proposing,  and  all  that.  Oh,  I 
couldn't!  You — you  can't  understand.  I'm 
such  a  duffer  at  most  things." 

There 's  no  fake  about  him  bein '  modest.  You 
could  tell  that  by  the  way  he  colored  up,  even 
talkin'  to  me.  Odd  sort  of  a  gink  he  was,  with 
a  lot  of  queer  streaks  in  him  that  didn  't  show 
on  the  outside.  It  was  more  or  less  entertain- 
in',  followin'  up  the  plot  of  the  piece;  but  all 
of  a  sudden  Merry  gets  over  his  confidential 
spasm  and  shuts  up  like  a  clam. 

"  Almost  time  to  dress  for  dinner,"  says  he. 
"  We'd  best  be  going  in." 

And  of  course  my  appearin'  in  the  banquet 
uniform  don't  give  him  any  serious  jolt. 

1 '  Well,  well,  Torchy !  ' '  says  he,  as  I  strolls 
into  the  parlor  about  six-thirty,  tryin'  to  for 
get  the  points  of  my  dress  collar.  "  How 
splendid  you  look !  ' ' 


MERRY  DODGES  A  DEAD  HEAT  173 

"  I  had  some  battle  with  the  tie,"  says  I. 
"  Ain't  the  bow  lopsided?  " 

"  A  mere  trifle,"  says  he.  "  Allow  me. 
There!  Really,  I'm  quite  proud  of  you. 
Aunty '11  be  pleased  too;  for,  while  she  dresses 
very  plainly  herself,  she  likes  this  sort  of  thing. 
You'll  see." 

I  didn't  notice  any  wild  enthusiasm  on 
Aunty's  part,  though,  when  she  shows  up.  A 
lean,  wiry  old  girl,  Aunty  is,  with  her  white 
hair  bobbed  up  careless  and  a  big  shell  comb 
stickin'  up  bristly,  like  a  picket  fence,  on  top. 
There's  nothin'  soft  about  her  chin,  or  the 
square-cut  mouth,  and  after  she'd  give  me  one 
glance  out  of  them  shrewd,  squinty  eyes  I  felt 
like  she'd  taken  my  number, — pedigree,  past 
performances,  and  cost  mark  complete. 

"  Howdo,  young  man?  "  says  she,  and  with 
out  wastin'  any  more  breath  on  me  she  pikes 
out  to  the  front  door  to  scout  down  the  drive 
for  the  other  guests. 

They  arrives  on  the  tick  of  six-forty-five,  and 
inside  of  three  minutes  Aunty  has  shooed  us 
into  the  dinin'  room.  And,  say,  the  first  good 
look  I  had  at  Pansy  and  Violet  I  nearly  passed 
away.  "  Rather  large,"  Merry  had  described 
'em.  Yes,  and  then  some!  They  wa'n't  just 
ordinary  fat  women;  they  was  a  pair  of 
whales, — big  all  over,  tall  and  wide  and  hefty. 
They  had  their  weight  pretty  well  placed  at 


174  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

that;  not  lumpy  or  bulgy,  you  know,  but  with 
them  expanses  of  shoulder,  and  their  big,  heavy 
faces — well,  the  picture  of  slim,  narrow-chested 
Merry  Stidler  sittin'  wedged  in  between  the 
two,  like  the  ham  in  a  lunch  counter  sandwich, 
was  most  too  much  for  me.  I  swallows  a  drink 
of  water  and  chokes  over  it. 

I  expect  Merry  caught  on  too.  I'd  never  seen 
him  so  fussed  before.  He's  makin'  a  brave 
stab  at  bein'  chatty;  but  I  can  tell  he's  doin'  it 
all  on  his  nerve.  He  glances  first  to  the  right, 
and  then  turns  quick  to  the  left;  but  on  both 
sides  he 's  hemmed  in  by  them  two  human  moun 
tains. 

They  wa'n't  such  bad  lookers,  either.  They 
has  good  complexions,  kind  of  pleasant  eyes, 
and  calm,  comf 'table  ways.  But  there  was  so 
much  of  'em!  Honest,  when  they  both  leans 
toward  him  at  once  I  held  my  breath,  expectin' 
to  see  him  squeezed  out  like  a  piece  of  lead  pipe 
run  through  a  rollin'  machine. 

Nothin'  tragic  like  that  happens,  though. 
They  don't  even  crowd  him  into  the  soup.  But 
it's  an  odd  sort  of  a  meal,  with  J.  Meredith  and 
the  Hibbs  sisters  doin'  a  draggy  three-handed 
dialogue,  while  me  and  Aunty  holds  down  the 
side  lines.  And  nothin'  that's  said  or  done  gets 
away  from  them  narrow-set  eyes,  believe  me! 

Looked  like  something  wa'n't  goin'  just  like 
she  'd  planned ;  for  the  glances  she  shoots  across 


MERRY  DODGES  A  DEAD  HEAT  175 

the  table  get  sharper  and  sourer,  and  fin'lly, 
when  the  roast  is  brought  in,  she  whispers  to 
the  butler,  and  the  next  thing  J.  Meredith 
knows,  as  he  glances  up  from  his  carvin',  he 
sees  James  uncorkin'  a  bottle  of  fizz.  Merry 
almost  drops  his  fork  and  gawps  at  Aunty  sort 
of  dazed. 

"  Meredith,"  says  she,  snappy,  "  go  on  with 
your  carving !  Young  man,  I  suppose  you  don't 
take  wine?  " 

"  N-n-no,  Ma'am,"  says  I,  watchin'  her  turn 
my  glass  down.  I  might  have  chanced  a  sip  or 
two,  at  that;  but  Aunty  has  diff'rent  ideas. 

I  notice  that  J.  Meredith  seems  to  shy  at  the 
bubbly  stuff,  as  if  he  was  lettin'  on  he  hated  it. 
He  makes  a  bluff  or  two ;  but  all  he  does  is  wet 
his  lips.    At  that  Aunty  gives  a  snort. 

"  Meredith,"  says  she,  hoistin'  her  hollow- 
stemmed  glass  sporty,  ' '  to  our  guests !  ' ' 

II  Ah,  to  be  sure,"  says  Merry,  and  puts  his 
nose  into  the  sparkles  in  dead  earnest. 

Somehow  the  table  chat  livens  up  a  lot  soon 
after  that.  It  was  one  of  the  Miss  Hibbs  askin* 
him  something  about  life  abroad  that  starts 
Merry  off.  He  begins  tellin'  about  Budapest 
and  Vienna  and  a  lot  more  of  them  guidebook 
spots,  and  how  comf 'table  you  can  live  there, 
and  the  music,  and  the  cafes,  and  the  sights, 
gettin'  real  enthusiastic  over  it,  until  one  of 
the  sisters  breaks  in  with: 


176  ON  WITH  TOUCHY 

* '  Think  of  that,  Pansy !  If  we  could  only  do 
such  things !  ' ' 

11  But  why  not?  "  says  Merry. 

"  Two  women  alone?  "  says  a  Miss  Hibbs. 

"  True,"  says  J.  Meredith.  "  One  needs  an 
escort." 

'  *  Ah-h-h-h,  yes !  ' '  sighs  Violet. 

1 1  Ah-h-h,  yes !  ' '  echoes  Pansy. 

"  James,"  puts  in  Aunty  just  then,  "  fill 
Mr.  Stidler's  glass." 

Merry  wa'n't  shyin'  it  any  more.  He  insists 
on  clickin'  rims  with  the  Hibbs  sisters,  and  they 
does  it  real  kittenish.  Merry  stops  in  the  mid 
dle  of  his  salad  to  unload  that  old  one  about 
the  Irishman  that  the  doctor  tried  to  throw  a 
scare  into  by  tellin'  him  if  he  didn't  quit  the 
booze  he'd  go  blind  within  three  months.  You 
know — when  Mike  comes  back  with,  "  Well,  I'm 
an  old  man,  and  I'm  thinkin'  I've  seen  most 
everything  worth  while."  Pansy  and  Violet 
shook  until  their  chairs  creaked,  and  one  of  'em 
near  swallows  her  napkin  tryin'  to  stop  the 
chuckles. 

In  all  the  time  I've  known  J.  Meredith  I'd 
never  heard  him  try  to  spring  anything  comic 
before;  but  havin'  made  such  a  hit  with  this  one 
he  follows  with  others,  robbin'  the  almanac  re 
gardless. 

"  Oh,  you  deliciously  funny  man!  "  gasps 
Pansy,  tappin'  him  playful  on  the  shoulder. 


MERRY  DODGES  A  DEAD  HEAT  177 

Course,  it  wa'n't  any  cabaret  high  jinks,  you 
understand.  Meredith  was  just  limbered  up  a 
little.  In  the  parlor  afterwards  while  we  was 
Jiavin'  coffee  he  strings  off  quite  a  fancy  line 
of  repartee,  fin'lly  allowin'  himself  to  be  pushed 
up  to  the  piano,  where  he  ripples  through  a  few 
things  from  Bach  and  Beethoven  and  Percy 
Moore.  It's  near  eleven  o'clock  when  the  Hibbs 
sisters  get  their  wraps  on  and  Merry  starts  to 
walk  home  with  'em. 

11  You  might  wait  for  me,  Torchy,"  says  he, 
pausin'  at  the  door. 

"  Nonsense!  "     says     Aunt     Emma     Jane. 

"  Time  young  people  were  in  bed.  Good  night, 
young  man." 

There  don't  seem  to  be  any  chance  for  a  de 
bate  on  the  subject;  so  I  goes  up  to  my  room. 
But  it's  a  peach  of  a  night,  warm  and  moony;  so 
after  I  turns  out  the  light  I  camps  down  on  the 
windowseat  and  gazes  out  over  the  shrub  'ry  to 
wards  the  water.  I  could  see  the  top  of  the 
Hibbs  house  and  a  little  wharf  down  on  the 
shore. 

I  don't  know  whether  it  was  the  moonlight  or 
the  coffee;  but  I  didn't  feel  any  more  like  bed 
than  I  did  like  breakfast.  Pretty  soon  I  hears 
Merry  come  tiptoein'  in  and  open  his  door, 
which  was  next  to  mine.  I  was  go  in'  to  hail 
him  .and  give  him  a  little  josh  about  disposin' 
of  the  sisters  so  quick;  but  I  didn't  hear  him 


178  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

stirrin'  around  any  more  until  a  few  minutes 
later,  when  it  sounds  as  if  he'd  tiptoed  down 
stairs  again.  But  I  wa'n't  sure.  Nothin'  doin' 
for  some  time  after  that.  And  you  know  how 
quiet  the  country  can  be  on  a  still,  moonshiny 
night. 

I  was  gettin'  dopy  from  it,  and  was  startin' 
to  shed  my  collar  and  tie,  when  off  from  a  dis 
tance,  somewhere  out  in  the  night,  music  breaks 
loose.  I  couldn't  tell  whether  it  was  a  cornet 
or  a  trombone;  but  it's  something  like  that. 
Seems  to  come  from  down  along  the  waterfront. 
And,  say,  it  sounds  kind  of  weird,  hearin'  it  at 
night  that  way.  Took  me  sometime  to  place 
the  tune;  but  I  fin'lly  makes  it  out  as  that  good 
old  mush  favorite,  "  0  Promise  Me."  It  was 
bein'  well  done  too,  with  long  quavers  on  the 
high  notes  and  the  low  ones  comin'  out  round 
and  deep.  Honest,  that  was  some  playin'.  I 
was  wide  awake  once  more,  leanin'  out  over  the 
sill  and  takin'  it  all  in,  when  a  window  on  the 
floor  below  goes  up  and  out  bobs  a  white  head. 
It's  Aunty.  She  looks  up  and  spots  me  too. 

". Quite  some  concert,  eh?  "  says  I. 

"  Is  that  you,  young  man?  "  says  she. 

"Uh-huh,"  says  I.  "  Just  takin'  in  the 
music. ' ' 

"  Humph!  "  says  she.  "  I  believe  it's  that 
fool  nephew  of  mine." 

"  Not  Merry?  "  says  I. 


MERRY  DODGES  A  DEAD  HEAT  179 

"  It  must  be,"  says  she.  "  And  goodness 
knows  why  he's  out  making  an  idiot  of  himself 
at  this  time  of  night!  He'll  arouse  the  whole 
neighbourhood. ' ' 

"  Why,  I  was  just  thinkin'  how  classy  it 
was,"  says  I. 

"Bah!"  says  Aunty.  "A  lot  you  know 
about  it.  Are  you  dressed,  young  man?  ' 

I  admits  that  I  am. 

"  Then  I  wish  you'd  go  down  there  and  see 
if  it  is  Merry, ' '  says  she.  "  If  it  is,  tell  him  I 
say  to  come  home  and  go  to  bed." 

"  And  if  it  ain't!  "  says  I. 

"  Go  along  and  see,"  says  she. 

I  begun  to  be  sorry  for  Merry.  I'd  rather 
pay  board  than  live  with  a  disposition  like 
that.  Down  I  pikes,  out  the  front  door  and  back 
through  the  shrub 'ry.  Meantime  the  musician 
has  finished  "  0  Promise  Me  "  and  has  switched 
to  "  Annie  Laurie."  It's  easy  enough  to  get 
the  gen'ral  direction  the  sound  comes  from; 
but  I  couldn't  place  it  exact.  First  off  I  thought 
it  must  be  from  a  little  summer  house  down 
by  the  shore;  but  it  wa'n't.  I  couldn't  see  any 
one  around  the  grounds.  Out  on  the  far  end 
of  the  Hibbs's  wharf,  though,  there  was  some- 
thin'  dark.  And  a  swell  time  I  had  too,  buttin' 
my  way  through  a  five-foot  hedge  and  landin' 
in  a  veg 'table  garden.  But  I  wades  through  to 
matoes  and  lettuce  until  I  strikes  a  gravel  path, 


180  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

and  in  a  couple  of  minutes  I'm  out  on  the  dock 
just  as  the  soloist  is  hittin'  up  "  Believe  Me,  if 
All  Those  Endearing  Young  Charms."  Aunty 
had  the  correct  dope.  It's  Merry,  all  right. 
The  first  glimpse  he  gets  of  me  he  starts  guilty 
and  tries  to  hide  the  cornet  under  the  tails  of  his 
dress  coat. 

"  No  use,  Merry,"  says  I.  "  You're  pinched 
with  the  poultry." 

"  Wha-a-at!  "  says  he.  "  Oh,  it's  you,  is  it, 
Torchy?  Please — please  don't  mention  this  to 
my  aunt." 

"  She  beat  me  to  it,"  says  I.  "It  was  her 
sent  me  out  after  you  with  a  stop  order.  She 
says  for  you  to  chop  the  nocturne  and  go  back 
to  the  hay." 

"  But  how  did  she Oh,  dear!  "  he  sighs. 

"  It  was  all  her  fault,  anyway." 

"  I  don't  follow  you,"  says  I.  "  But  what 
was  it,  a  serenade?  " 

"  Goodness,  no!  ':  gasps  J.  Meredith. 
"  Who  suggested  that?  " 

"  Why,  it  has  all  the  earmarks  of  one,"  says 
I.  "  What  else  would  you  be  doin',  out  playin' 
the  cornet  by  moonlight  on  the  dock,  if  you 
wa'n't  serenadin'  someone!  ' 

"  But  I  wasn't,  truly,"  he  protests.  "  It — it 
was  the  champagne,  you  know." 

"  Eh?  "  says  I.  "  You  don't  mean  to  say 
you  got  stewed?  Not  on  a  couple  of  glasses!  " 


MERRY  DODGES  A  DEAD  HEAT  181 

"  Well,  not  exactly,"  says  he.  "  But  I  can't 
take  wine.  I  hardly  ever  do.  It — it  goes  to  my 
head  always.  And  tonight — well,  I  couldn't  de 
cline.  You  saw.  Then  afterward — oh,  I  felt  so 
buoyant,  so  full  of  life,  that  I  couldn't  go  to 
sleep.  I  simply  had  to  do  something  to  let  off 
steam.  I  wanted  to  play  the  cornet.  So  I  came 
out  here,  as  far  away  from  anyone  as  I  could 
get." 

"  Too  thin,  Merry,"  says  I.  "  That  might 
pass  with  me;  but  with  strangers  you'd  get  the 
laugh. ' ' 

"  But  it's  true,"  he  goes  on.  "  And  I  didn't 
dream  anyone  could  hear  me  from  here." 

' '  Why,  you  boob, ' '  says  I,  ' '  they  could  hear 
you  a  mile  off !  " 

"  Beally?  "  says  he.  "  But  you  don't  sup 
pose  Vio — I  mean,  the  Misses  Hibbs  could  hear, 
do  you?  " 

"  Unless  it's  their  habit  to  putty  up  their 
ears  at  night,"  says  I. 

"  But — but  what  will  they  think?  "  he  gasps 
breathless. 

11  That  they're  bein'  serenaded  by  some 
admirin'  friend,"  says  I.  "  What's  your 
guess?  " 

11  Oh — oh!  "  says  Merry,  slumpin'  down  on 
a  settee.  "  I — I  had  not  thought  of  that." 

1 '  Ah,  buck  up !  "  say  I.  * '  Maybe  you  can 
fake  an  alibi  in  the  mornin'.  Anyway,  you 


182  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

can't  spend  the  night  here.  You  got  to  report 
to  Aunty." 

He  lets  out  another  groan,  and  then  gets  on 
his  feet.  "  There's  a  path  through  the  bushes 
along  here  somewhere,"  says  he. 

"  No  more  cross  country  work-in  full  dress 
clothes  for  me,"  says  I.  "  We'll  sneak  down 
the  Hibbs's  drive  where  the  goin's  easy." 

We  was  doin'  it  real  sleuthy  too,  keepin'  on 
the  lawn  and  dodgin'  from  shadow  to  shadow, 
when  just  as  we're  passin'  the  house  Merry 
has  to  stub  his  toe  and  drop  his  blamed  cornet 
with  a  bang. 

Then  out  from  a  second  story  window  floats  a 
voice:  "  Who  is  that,  please?  ' 

Merry  nudges  me  in  the  ribs.  "  Tell  them 
it's  you,"  he  whispers. 

"  Why,  it's — it's  me — Torchy,"  says  I  re 
luctant. 

"Oh!  Ah!  "  says  a  couple  of  voices  in 
chorus.  Then  one  of  'em  goes  on, ' '  The  young 
man  who  is  visiting  dear  Meredith?  ' 

"  Yep,"  says  I.    "  Same  one." 

"  But  it  wasn't  you  playing  the  cornet  so 
beautifully,  was  it?  "  comes  coaxin'  from  the 
window. 

"  Tell  them  yes,"  whispers  Merry,  nudgin' 
violent. 

"  Gwan!  "  I  whispers  back.  "I'm  in  bad 
enough  as  it  is."  With  that  I  speaks  up  before 


MERRY  DODGES  A  DEAD  HEAT  183 

he  can  stop  me,  "  Not  much!  "  says  I.  "  That 
was  dear  Meredith  himself." 

"  Oh-oh!  "  says  the  voices  together.  Then 
there's  whisperin'  between  'em.  One  seems 
urgin'  the  other  on  to  something,  and  at  last  it 
comes  out.  "  Young  man,"  says  the  voice, 
smooth  and  persuadin',  "  please  tell  us  who — 
that  is — which  one  of  us  was  the  serenade  in 
tended  for!  " 

This  brings  the  deepest  groan  of  all  from  J. 
Meredith. 

"  Come  on,  now,"  says  I,  hoarse  and  low  in 
his  ear.  "  It's  up  to  you.  Which?  " 

"  Oh,  really,"  he  whispers  back,  "  I — I 
can't!  " 

"  You  got  to,  and  quick,"  says  I.  "  Come 
now,  was  it  Pansy?  " 

"  No,  no!  "  says  he,  gaspy. 

1  'Huh!"  says  I.  "Then  Violet  gets  the 
decision,"  And  I  holds  him  off  by  main 
strength  while  I  calls  out,  ' '  Why,  ain  't  you  on 
yet?  It  was  for  Violet,  of  course." 

'  *  Ah-h-h-h !  Thank  you.  Good  night, ' '  comes 
a  voice — no  chorus  this  time :  just  one — and  the 
window  is  shut. 

"  There  you  are,  Merry,"  says  I.  "  It's  all 
over.  You're  as  good  as  booked  for  life." 

He  was  game  about  it,  though,  Merry  was. 
He  squares  it  with  Aunty  before  goin'  to  bed, 
and  right  after  breakfast  next  mornin'  he 


184  ON  WITH  TOKCHY 

marches  over  to  the  Hibbses  real  business-like. 
Half  an  hour  later  I  saw  him  strollin'  out  on 
the  wharf  with  one  of  the  big  sisters,  and  I  knew 
it  must  be  Violet.  It  was  his  busy  day;  so  I 
says  nothin'  to  anybody,  but  fades. 

And  you  should  have  seen  the  jaunty,  beam- 
in'  J.  Meredith  that  swings  into  the  Corrugated 
Monday  mornin'.  He  stops  at  the  gate  to  give 
me  a  fraternal  grip. 

"It's  all  right,  Torchy,"  says  he.  "  She 
she'll  have  me — Violet,  you  know.  And  we  are 
to  live  abroad.  We  sail  in  less  than  a  month." 

"  But  what  about  Pansy?  "  says  I. 

"  Oh,  she's  coming  with  us,  of  course,"  says 
he.  "  Really,  they're  both  charming  girls." 

"  Huh!  "  says  I.  "  That's  where  you  were 
when  I  found  you.  You're  past  that  point, 
remember. ' ' 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  says  he.  "  It  was  you  helped 
me  too,  and  I  wish  in  some  way  I  could  show 
my-  -" 

* '  You  can, ' '  says  I.  * '  Leave  me  the  cornet. 
I  might  need  it  some  day  myself." 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  PASSING  BY  OF  BUNNY 

IT'S  a  shame  the  way  some  of  these  popular 
clubmen  is  bothered  with  business.  Here  was 
Mr.  Robert,  only  the  other  day,  with  an  impor 
tant  four-cue  match  to  be  played  off  between 
four-thirty  and  dinnertime;  and  what  does  the 
manager  of  our  Chicago  branch  have  to  do  but 
go  and  muss  up  the  schedule  by  wirin'  in  that 
he  might  have  to  call  for  headquarters'  advice 
on  that  Burlington  order  maybe  after  closin* 
time. 

"  Oh,  pshaw!  "  remarks  Mr.  Robert,  after 
he's  read  the  message. 

"  The  simp !  "  says  I.  "  Guess  he  thinks  the 
Corrugated  gen'ral  offices  runs  night  and  day 
shifts,  don't  he?  " 

11  Very  well  put,"  says  Mr.  Robert.  "  Still, 
it  means  rather  a  big  contract.  But,  you  see,  the 
fellows  are  counting  on  me  for  this  match,  and  if 

I  should Oh,  but  I  say,  Torchy, ' '  he  breaks 

off  sudden,  "  perhaps  you  have  no  very  impor 
tant  engagement  for  the  early  evening?  " 

"  Me?  "    says    I.      "  Nothing    I    couldn't 

185 


186  ON  WITH  TOECHY 

scratch.  I  can  shoot  a  little  pool  too ;  but  when 
it  comes  to  balk  line  billiards  I  expect  I'd  be  a 
dub  among  your  crowd. ' ' 

11  Refreshing  modesty!  "  says  Mr.  Robert. 
"  What  I  had  in  mind,  however,  was  that  you 
might  wait  here  for  the  message  from  Nixon, 
while  I  attend  to  the  match." 

"  Oh,  any  way  you  choose,"  says  I.  "  Sure 
I'll  stay." 

"  Thanks,"  says  he.  "  You  needn't  wait 
longer  than  seven,  and  if  it  comes  in  you  can 
get  me  on  the  'phone  and —  No,  it  will  be 
in  code;  so  you'd  best  bring  it  over." 

And  it  wa'n't  so  much  of  a  wait,  after  all, 
not  more'n  an  hour;  for  at  six-fifteen  I've  been 
over  to  the  club,  had  Mr.  Robert  called  from  the 
billiard  room,  got  him  to  fix  up  his  answer,  and 
am  pikin'  out  the  front  door  with  it  when  he 
holds  me  up  to  add  just  one  more  word.  Maybe 
we  was  some  conspicuous  from  Fifth-ave.,  him 
bein'  still  in  his  shirt  sleeves  and  the  steps  bein' 
more  or  less  brilliant. 

Anyway,  I'd  made  another  start  and  was  just 
gettin'  well  under  way,  when  alongside  scuffs 
this  hollow-eyed  object  with  the  mangy  whiskers 
and  the  mixed-ale  breath. 

"  Excuse  me,  young  feller,"  says  he, 
"but " 

11  Ah,  flutter  by,  idle  one!  "  says  I.  "I'm 
no  soup  ticket." 


THE  PASSING  BY  OF  BUNNY      187 

* '  But  just  a  word,  my  friend, ' '  he  insists. 

"  Save  your  breath,"  says  I,  "  and  have  it 
redistilled.  It's  worth  it." 

"  Thanks,"  he  puffs  out  as  he  shuffles  along 
at  my  elbow;  "  but — but  wasn't  that  Bob  Ellins 
you  were  just  talking  to?  " 

11  Eh!  "  says  I,  glancin'  at  him  some  aston 
ished;  for  a  seedier  specimen  you  couldn't  find 
up  and  down  the  avenue.  ' '  What  do  you  know 
about  him,  if  it  was?  " 

11  More  than  his  name,"  says  the  wreck. 
11  He — he's  an  old  friend  of  mine." 

"  Oh,  of  course,"  says  I.  "  Anyone  could 
tell  that  at  a  glimpse.  I  expect  you  used  to 
belong  to  the  same  club  too?  " 

"  Is  old  Barney  still  on  the  door?  "  says  he. 

And,  say,  he  had  the  right  dope  on  that.  Not 
three  minutes  before  I'd  heard  Mr.  Robert  call 
the  old  gink  by  name.  But  that  hardly  proved 
the  case. 

"  Clever  work,"  says  I.  "  What  was  it  you 
used  to  do  there,  take  out  the  ashes." 

"  I  don't  wonder  you  think  so,"  says  he; 
"  but  it's  a  fact  that  Bob  and  I  are  old 
friends." 

"  Why  don't  you  tackle  him,  then,"  says  I, 
11  instead  of  botherin'  a  busy  man  like  me?  Go 
back  and  call  him  out." 

"  I  haven't  the  face,"  says  he.  "  Look  at 
me!  " 


188  ON  WITH  TOECHY 

"  I  have,"  says  I,  "  and,  if  you  ask 
me,  you  look  like  something  the  cat  brought 
in." 

He  winces  a  little  at  that.  "  Don't  tell  Bob 
how  bad  it  was,  then,"  says  he.  "  Just  say 
you  let  me  have  a  fiver  for  him." 

"  Five  bucks !  "  says  I.  "  Say,  I'm  Mr.  Kob- 
ert's  office  boy,  not  his  bank  account." 

"  Two,  then?  "  he  goes  on. 

"  My,  but  I  must  have  the  boob  mark  on  me 
plain!  "  says  I. 

"  Couldn't  you  spare  a  half,"  he  urges,  "  just 
a  half,  to  get  me  a  little  something  to  eat,  and 
a  drink,  and  pay  for  a  bed?  " 

' '  Oh,  sure !  ' '  says  I.  * '  I  carry  a  pocketful 
of  halves  to  shove  out  to  all  the  bums  that  pre 
sents  their  business  cards." 

"  But  Bob  would  give  it  back  to  you,"  he 
pleads.  "  I  swear  he  would!  Just  tell  him 
you  gave  it  to — to " 

11  Well?  "  says  I.    "  Algernon  who?  " 

"  Tell  him  it  was  for  Melville  Slater,"  says 
he.  "He '11  know." 

"  Melly  Slater,  eh?  "  says  I.  "  Sounds  all 
right.  But  I'd  have  to  chew  it  over  first,  even 
for  a  half.  I  have  chances  of  gettin'  stung  like 
this  about  four  times  a  day,  Melly.  And,  any 
way,  I  got  to  file  a  message  first,  over  at  the 
next  corner." 

"  I'll  wait  outside,"  says  he. 


p.  F06TEB    UNCOtN 


"AH,  FLUTTER  BY,  ILLE  ONE!"   SAYS  I. 


THE  PASSING  BY  OF  BUNNY     189 

"  That's  nice  of  you,"  says  I.  "  It  ain't  any 
cinch  you'll  connect,  though." 

But  as  I  dashes  into  a  hotel  where  there's  a 
blue  sign  out  he  leans  up  against  a  window 
gratin',  sort  of  limp  and  exhausted,  and  it  looks 
like  he  means  to  take  a  sportin'  chance. 

How  you  goin'  to  tell,  anyway?  Most  of  'em 
say  they've  been  thrown  out  of  work  by  the 
trusts,  but  that  they've  heard  of  a  job  in  New 
ark,  or  Bridgeport,  or  somewhere,  which  they 
could  get  if  they  could  only  rustle  enough  coin 
to  pay  the  fare.  And  they'll  add  interestin'  de 
tails  about  havin'  a  sick  wife,  or  maybe  four 
hungry  kids,  and  so  on. 

But  this  rusty  bunch  of  works  has  a  new 
variation.  He's  an  old  friend  of  the  boss. 
Maybe  it  was  partly  so  too.  If  it  was — well,  I 
got  to  thinkin'  that  over  while  the  operator  was 
countin'  the  words,  and  so  the  next  thing  I  does 
is  to  walk  over  to  the  telephone  queen  and  have 
her  call  up  Mr.  Eobert. 

* '  Well  ?  ' '  says  he,  impatient. 

"  It's  Torchy  again,"  says  I.  "  I've  filed 
the  message,  all  right.  But,  say,  there's  a  piece 
of  human  junk  that  I  collected  from  in  front 
of  the  club  who's  tryin'  to  panhandle  me  for  a 
half  on  the  strength  of  bein'  an  old  chum 
of  yours.  He  says  his  name's  Melville 
Slater." 

"Wha-a-at!"  gasps  Mr.  Eobert.     "  Melly 


190  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

Slater,  trying  to  borrow  half  a  dollar  from 
you?  " 

"  There's  no  doubt  about  his  needin'  it,"  says 
I.  "  My  guess  is  that  a  half  would  be  a  life 
saver  to  him  just  now." 

"  Why,  it  doesn't  seem  possible!!  "  says  Mr. 
Robert.  "  Of  course,  I  haven't  seen  Melly  re 
cently;  but  I  can't  imagine  how Did  you 

say  he  was  still  there?  " 

"  Hung  up  on  the  rail  outside,  if  the  cop  ain't 
shooed  him  off,"  says  I. 

"  Then  keep  him  there  until  I  come,"  says 
Mr.  Robert.  "  If  it's  Melly,  I  must  come.  I'll 
be  right  over.  But  don't  say  a  word  to  him 
until  I  get  there." 

11  Got  you,"  says  I.  "  Hold  Melly  and  keep 
mum. ' ' 

I  could  pipe  him  off  through  the  swing  door 
vestibule;  and,  honest,  from  the  lifeless  way 
he's  propped  up  there,  one  arm  hangin'  loose, 
his  head  to  one  side,  and  that  white,  pasty  look 
to  his  nose  and  forehead — well,  I  didn't  know 
but  he'd  croaked  on  the  spot.  So  I  slips 
through  the  cafe  exit  and  chases  along  the  side 
street  until  I  meets  Mr.  Robert,  who's  pikin' 
over  full  tilt. 

"  You're  sure  it's  Melly  Slater,  are  you?  ' 
says  he. 

"I'm  only  sure  that's  what  he  said,"  says  I. 


THE  PASSING  BY  OF  BUNNY     191 

"  But  you  can  settle  that  soon  enough.  There 
he  is,  over  there  by  the  window." 

"Why!"  says  Mr.  Kobert.  "That  can 
never  be  Melly;  that  is,  unless  he's  changed 
wonderfully."  With  that  he  marches  up  and 
taps  the  object  on  the  shoulder.  "  I  say,"  says 
he,  "  you're  not  really  Melly  Slater,  are  you?  " 

There's  a  quick  shiver  runs  through  the  man 
against  the  rail,  and  he  lifts  his  eyes  up  cring- 
in',  like  he  expected  to  be  hit  with  a  club.  Mr. 
Robert  takes  one  look,  and  it  almost  staggers 
him.  Next  he  reaches  out,  gets  a  firm  grip  on 
the  gent's  collar,  and  drags  him  out  into  a  better 
light,  twistin '  the  whiskered  face  up  for  a  close 
inspection. 

"  Blashford !  "  says  he,  hissin'  it  out  unpleas 
ant.  "  Bunny  Blashford!  " 

"  No,  no!  "  says  the  gent,  tryin'  to  squirm 
away.  "  You — you've  made  a  mistake." 

"  Not  much!  "  says  Mr.  Robert.  "  I  know 
those  sneaking  eyes  of  yours  too  well." 

"  All  right,"  says  he;  "  but— but  don't  hit 
me,  Bob.  Don't." 

"  You — you  cur!  "  says  Mr.  Robert,  holdin' 
him  at  arm's  length  and  glarin'  at  him  hostile. 

"  A  ringer,  eh?  "  says  I. 

"  Worse  than  that,"  says  Mr.  Robert,  "  a 
sneaking,  contemptible  hound!  Trying  to  pass 
yourself  off  for  Melly,  were  you?  "  he  goes  on. 
"  Of  all  men,  Melly!  What  for!  " 


192  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

"  I — I  didn't  want  you  to  know  I  was  back," 
whines  Bunny.  "  And  I  had  to  get  money  some 
how,  Bob — honest,  I  did." 

"Bah!"  says  Mr.  Robert.  "  You- 
you ' ' 

But  he  ain't  got  any  such  vocabulary  as  old 
Hickory  Ellins  has;  so  here,  when  he  needs  it 
most,  all  he  can  do  is  express  his  deep  disgust 
by  shakin'  this  Bunny  party  like  a  new  hired 
girl  dustin'  a  rug.  He  jerks  him  this  way  and 
that  so  reckless  that  I  was  afraid  he'd  rattle 
him  apart,  and  when  he  fin'lly  lets  loose  Bunny 
goes  all  in  a  heap  on  the  sidewalk.  I'd  never 
seen  Mr.  Robert  get  real  wrathy  before;  but 
it 's  all  over  in  a  minute,  and  he  glances  around 
like  he  was  ashamed. 

"  Hang  it  all!  "  says  he,  gazin'  at  the  wreck. 
"  I  didn't  mean  to  lay  my  hands  on  him." 

11  He's  in  punk  condition,"  says  I.  "  What's 
to  be  done,  call  an  ambulance  I  ' 

That  jars  Mr.  Robert  a  lot.  I  expect  he  was 
so  worked  up  he  didn't  know  how  rough  he  was 
handlin'  him,  and  my  suggestin'  that  he's  quali 
fied  Bunny  for  a  cot  sobers  him  down  in  a  min 
ute.  Next  thing  I  knows  he 's  kneelin '  over  the 
Blashford  gent  and  liftin'  his  head  up. 

"  Here,  what's  the  matter  with  you?  "  says 
Mr.  Robert. 

"  Don't!  Don't  strike  me  again,"  moans 
Bunny,  cringin'. 


THE  PASSING  BY  OF  BUNNY     193 


"  No,  no,  I'm  not  going  to,"  says  Mr.  Robert. 
1  i  And  I  apologize  for  shaking  you.  But  what 
ails  you?  " 

"  I — I'm  all  in,"  says  Bunny,  beginnin'  to 
sniffle.  "  Don't — don't  beat  me!  I — I'm  going 
to  die;  but — but  not  here,  like — like  this.  I — I 
don't  want  to  live;  but — but  I  don't  want  to 
finish  this  way,  like  a  rat.  Help  me,  Bob,  to — 
to  finish  decent.  I  know  I  don't  deserve  it  from 
you;  but — but  you  wouldn't  want  to  see  me  go 
like  this — dirty  and  ragged?  I — I  want  to  die 
clean  and — and  well  dressed.  Please,  Bob,  for 
old  time's  sake?  " 

"  Nonsense,  man!"  says  Mr.  Robert. 
t(  You're  not  going  to  die  now." 

"  Yes,  I  am,  Bob,"  says  Bunny.  "  I — I  can 
tell.  I  want  to,  anyway.  I — I'm  no  good.  And 
I'm  in  rotten  shape.  Drink,  you  know,  and  I've' 
a  bad  heart.  I'm  near  starved  too.  It's  been 
days  since  I've  eaten  anything — days!  ' 

"By  George!"  says  Mr.  Robert.  "  Then 
you  must  have  something  to  eat.  Here,  let  me 
help  you  up.  Torchy,  you  take  the  other  side. 
Steady,  now !  I  didn't  know  you  were  in  such  a 
condition;  really,  I  didn't.  And  we'll  get  you 
filled  up  right  away." 

"  I — I  couldn't  eat,"  says  Bunny.  "  I  don't 
want  anything.  I  just  want  to  quit — only — not 
like  this ;  but  clean,  Bob,  clean  and  dressed  de 
cent  once  more." 


194  ON  WITH  TOKCHY 

Say,  maybe  you  can  guess  about  how  cheerin' 
it  was,  hearin'  him  say  that  over  and  over  in 
that  whiny,  tremblin'  voice  of  his,  watchin* 
them  shifty,  deep-set  eyes  glisten  glassy  under 
the  light.  About  as  comfortin'  a  sight,  he  was, 
as  a  sick  dog  in  a  corner.  And  of  all  the  rummy 
ideas  to  get  in  his  nut — that  about  bein' 
dressed  up  to  die!  But  he  keeps  harpin'  away 
on  it  until  fin'ly  Mr.  Eobert  takes  notice. 

"  Yes,  yes!  "  says  the  boss.  "  "We'll  attend 
to  that,  old  man.  But  you  need  some  nourish 
ment  in  you  first." 

So  we  drags  him  over  to  the  opposite  corner, 
where  there's  a  drugstore,  and  got  a  glass  of  hot 
milk  under  his  vest.  Then  I  calls  a  taxi,  and  we 
all  starts  for  the  nearest  Turkish  bath  joint. 

"  That's  all,  Torchy,"  says  Mr.  Eobert.  "  I 
won't  bother  you  any  more  with  this  wretched 
business.  You'd  best  go  now." 

"  Suppose  something  happens  to  him?  "  says 
I.  "  You'll  need  a  witness,  won't  you?  " 

"  I  hadn't  thought  of  that,"  says  he. 

"  There's  no  tellin',"  says  I.  "  Them  coron 
ers  deputies  are  mostly  boneheads.  I'd  better 
stay  on  the  job." 

"  I  know  of  no  one  I'd  rather  have,  Torchy," 
says  he. 

Course,  he  was  stretchin*  it  there.  But  we 
fixes  it  up  that  while  Bunny  is  bein'  soaked  out 
I'll  have  time  to  pluck  some  eats.  Meanwhile 


THE  PASSING  BY  OF  BUNNY     195 

Mr.  Robert  will  'phone  his  man  to  dig  out  one 
of  his  old  dress  suits,  with  fmn's,  which  I'm 
to  collect  and  have  waitin'  for  Blashford. 

11  Better  have  him  barbered  some  too,  hadn't 
If  "  says  I. 

"  A  lot,"  says  Mr.  Eobert,  slippin'  me  a  cou 
ple  of  tens  for  expenses.  "  And  when  he's  all 
ready  call  me  at  the  club." 

So,  take  it  all  around,  I  has  quite  some  busy 
evenin'.  I  stayed  long  enough  to  see  Bunny 
wrapped  in  a  sheet  and  helped  into  the  steam- 
room,  and  then  I  hustles  out  for  a  late  dinner. 
It's  near  nine-thirty  before  I  rings  Mr.  Eobert 
up  again,  and  reports  that  Bunny  would  pass 
a  Board  of  Health  inspection  now  that  he's  had 
the  face  herbage  removed,  that  he's  costumed 
proper  and  correct,  and  that  he's  decided  not 
to  die  immediate. 

"  Very  well,"  says  Mr.  Robert.  "  What  does 
he  want  to  do  now!  " 

"  He  wants  to  talk  to  you,"  says  I. 

"  The  deuce  he  does!"  says  Mr.  Robert. 
11  Well,  I  suppose  we  might  as  well  have  it  out; 
so  bring  him  up  here." 

That's  how  it  happens  I'm  rung  in  on  this 
little  club  corner  chat ;  for  Mr.  Robert  explains 
that  whatever  passes  between  'em  it  might  be 
as  well  to  have  someone  else  hear. 

And,  say,  what  a  diff'rence  a  little  outside 
upholstery  can  make,  ehT  The  steamin'  out  had 


196  ON  WITH  TOECHY 

helped  some,  I  expect,  and  a  couple  more  glasses 
of  hot  milk  had  braced  him  up  too ;  but  blamed 
if  I'd  expect  just  a  shave  and  a  few  open-face 
clothes  could  change  a  human  ruin  into  such 
a  perky  lookin'  gent  as  this  that  leans  back 
graceful  against  the  leather  cushions  and  lights 
up  one  of  Mr.  Kobert's  imported  cigarettes. 
Course,  the  eye  hollows  hadn't  been  filled  in, 
nor  the  face  wrinkles  ironed  out;  but  somehow 
they  only  gives  him  a  sort  of  a  distinguished  look. 
And  now  that  his  shoulders  ain't  slumped,  and 
he's  holdin'  his  chin  up  once  more,  he's  almost 
ornamental.  He  don't  even  seem  embarrassed 
at  meetin'  Mr.  Robert  again.  If  anyone  was 
fussed,  it  was  the  boss. 

"  Well?  "  says  he,  as  we  gets  settled  in  the 
cozy  corner. 

"  Seems  natural  as  life  here;  eh,  Bob!  "  says 
Bunny,  glancin'  around  approvin'.  "  And  it's 
nearly  four  years  since  I — er 

"  Since  you  were  kicked  out,"  adds  Mr.  Eob- 
ert.  "  See  here,  Bunny — just  because  I've 
helped  you  out  of  the  gutter  when  I  thought  you 
were  half  dead,  don't  run  away  with  the  idea 
that  I've  either  forgotten  or  forgiven!  ' 

ei  Oh,  quite  so,"  says  he.  "I'm  not  asking 
that." 

"  Then  you've  no  excuse,"  goes  on  Mr.  Rob 
ert,  "  for  the  sneaking,  cowardly  way  in  which 
you  left  little  Sally  Slater  waiting  in  her  bridal 


THE  PASSING  BY  OF  BUNNY     197 

gown,  the  house  full  of  wedding  guests,  while 
you  ran  off  with  that  unspeakable  DeBrett  per 
son?  " 

"  No,"  says  Bunny,  flippin'  his  cigarette 
ashes  off  jaunty,  "  no  excuse  worthy  of  the 
name." 

"  Cad!  "  says  Mr.  Robert. 

Bunny  shrugs  his  shoulders.  "  Precisely," 
says  he.  "  But  you  are  not  making  the  dis 
covery  for  the  first  time,  are  you?  You  knew 
Sally  was  far  too  good  for  me.  Everyone  did, 
even  Brother  Melly.  It  couldn't  have  been 
much  of  a  secret  to  either  of  you  how  deep  I 
was  with  the  DeBrett  too.  Yet  you  wanted  me 
to  go  on  with  Sally.  Why?  Because  the  gov 
ernor  hadn't  chucked  me  overboard  then,  be 
cause  I  could  still  keep  up  a  front?  " 

"  You  might  have  taken  a  brace,"  says  Mr. 
Robert. 

' '  Not  I !  "  says  Bunny.  ' '  Anyway,  not  after 
Trixie  DeBrett  got  hold  of  me.  The  trouble 
was,  Bob,  you  didn't  half  appreciate  her.  She 
had  beauty,  brains,  wit,  a  thousand  fascina 
tions,  and  no  more  soul  than  a  she  boa  con 
strictor.  I  was  just  a  rabbit  to  her,  a  meal. 
She  thought  the  governor  would  buy  her  off, 
say,  for  a  couple  hundred  thousand  or  so.  I 
suppose  he  would  too,  if  it  hadn't  been  for  the 
Sally  complication.  He  thought  a  lot  of  little 
Sally.  And  the  way  it  happened  was  too  raw. 


198  ON  WITH  TOKCHY 

I  don't  blame  him,  mind  you,  nor  any  of  you. 
I  don't  even  blame  Trixie.  That  was  her  game. 
And,  by  Jove !  she  was  a  star  at  it.  I'd  go  back 
to  her  now  if  she'd  let  me." 

"  You're  a  fool!  "  snorts  Mr.  Robert. 

"  Always  was,  my  dear  Bob,"  says  Bunny 
placid.  "  You  often  told  me  as  much." 

"  But  I  didn't  think,"  goes  on  Mr.  Robert, 
"  you'd  get  as  low  as — as  tonight — begging!  ' 

11  Quite  respectable  for  me,  I  assure  you," 
says  Bunny.  * '  Why,  my  dear  fellow,  during  the 
last  few  years  there's  been  hardly  a  crime  on 
the  calendar  I  shouldn't  have  committed  for  a 
dollar — barring  murder,  of  course.  That  re 
quires  nerve.  How  long  do  you  suppose  the  few 
thousands  I  got  from  Aunt  Eunice  lasted? 
Barely  six  months.  I  thought  I  knew  how  to 
live  rather  luxuriously  myself.  But  Trixie! 
Well,  she  taught  me.  And  we  were  in  Paris,  you 
know.  I  didn't  cable  the  governor  until  I  was 
down  to  my  last  hundred-franc  note.  His  reply 
was  something  of  a  stinger.  I  showed  it  to 
Trixie.  She  just  laughed  and  went  out  for  a 
drive.  She  didn't  come  back.  I  hear  she  picked 
up  a  brewer's  son  at  Monte  Carlo.  Lucky  devil, 
he  was ! 

"  And  I?  What  would  you  expect?  In  less 
than  two  weeks  I  was  a  stowaway  on  a  French 
liner.  They  routed  me  out  and  set  me  to  stok 
ing.  I  couldn't  stand  that,  of  course;  so  they 


THE  PASSING  BY  OF  BUNNY     199 

put  me  to  work  in  the  kitchens,  cleaning  pots, 
dumping  garbage,  waiting  on  the  crew.  I  had 
to  make  the  round  trip  too.  Then  I  jumped  the 
stinking  craft,  only  to  get  a  worse  berth  on  a 
P.  &  0.  liner.  I  worked  with  Chinese,  Lascars, 
coolies,  the  scum  of  the  earth;  worked  and  ate 
and  slept  and  fought  with  them.  I  crawled 
ashore  and  deserted  in  strange  ports.  I  think 
it  was  at  Aden  where  I  came  nearest  to  starv 
ing  the  first  time.  And  I  remember  the  docks 
at  Alexandria.  Sometimes  the  tourists  threw 
down  coppers  for  the  Arab  and  Berber  boys  to 
scrabble  for.  It's  a  pleasant  custom.  I  was 
there,  in  that  scrabbling,  cursing,  clawing  rab 
ble.  And  when  I'd  had  a  good  day  I  spent 
my  coppers  royally  in  a  native  dance-hall 
which  even  guides  don't  dare  show  to  the 
trippers. 

"  Eespectability,  my  dear  Bob,  is  all  a  mat 
ter  of  comparison.  I  acquired  a  lot  of  new 
standards.  As  a  second  cabin  steward  on  a 
Brazos  liner  I  became  quite  haughty.  Poverty ! 
You  don't  know  what  it  means  until  you've 
rubbed  elbows  with  it  in  the  Far  East  and  the 
Far  South.  Here  you  have  the  Bowery  Mission 
bread  line.  That's  a  fair  sample,  Bob,  of  our 
American  opulence.  Free  bread  I  '; 

"  So  you've  been  in  that,  have  you!  "  asks 
Mr.  Eobert. 

"  Have  If  "  says  Bunny.    "I've  pals  down 


200  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

there  tonight  who  will  wonder  what  has  be 
come  of  me." 

Mr.  Robert  shudders.  And,  say,  it  made  me 
feel  chilly  along  the  spine  too. 

"  Well,  what  now?  "  says  Mr.  Robert.  "  I 
suppose  you  expect  me  to  find  you  some  sort 
of  work?  " 

"  Not  at  all,"  says  Bunny.  "  Another  of 
those  cigarettes,  if  you  don't  mind.  Excellent 
brand.  Thanks.  But  work?  How  inconsider 
ate,  Bob!  I  wasn't  born  to  be  useful.  You 
know  that  well  enough.  No,  work  doesn't  ap 
peal  to  me." 

Mr.  Robert  flushes  up  at  that.  "  Then,"  says 
he,  pointin'  stern,  "  there's  the  door." 

"  Oh,  what's  the  hurry?  '  says  Bunny. 
"  This  is  heaven  to  me,  all  this, — the  old  club, 
you  know,  and  good  tobacco,  and — say,  Bob,  if  I 
might  suggest,  a  pint  of  that  '85  vintage  would 
add  just  the  finishing  touch.  Come,  I  haven't 
tasted  a  glass  of  fizz  since — well,  I've  forgotten. 
Just  for  auld  lang  syne !  ' ' 

Mr.  Robert  gasps,  hesitates  a  second,  and 
then  pushes  the  button.  Bunny  inspects  the 
label  critical  when  it's  brought  in,  waves  grace 
ful  to  Mr.  Robert,  and  slides  the  bottle  back 
tender  into  the  cooler. 

"  Ah-h-h!  "  says  he.  "  And  doesn't  Henri 
have  any  more  of  those  dainty  little  caviar 
canapes  on  hand?  They  go  well  with  fizz." 


THE  PASSING  BY  OF  BUNNY     201 

"  Canapes,"  says  Mr.  Eobert  to  the  waiter. 
"  And  another  box  of  those  gold-tipped  Rus 
sians." 

"  A  vous!  "  says  Bunny,  raisin'  a  glassful  of 
bubbles  and  salutin'.  "  I'm  as  thirsty  as  a 
camel  driver." 

"  But  what  I'd  like  to  know,"  says  Mr.  Eob 
ert,  "  is  what  you  propose  doing." 

"  You,  my  dear  fellow,"  says  Bunny,  settin* 
down  the  glass. 

"  Truly  enterprising!  "  says  Mr.  Eobert. 
11  But  you're  going  to  'be  disappointed.  In 
just  ten  minutes  I  mean  to  escort  you  to  the1 
sidewalk,  and  then  wash  my  hands  of  you  for 
good." 

Bunny  laughs.  "  Impossible!  "  says  he. 
"  In  the  first  place,  you  couldn't  sleep  tonight, 
if  you  did.  Secondly,  I  should  hunt  you  up  to 
morrow  and  make  a  nuisance  of  myself." 

"  You'd  be  thrown  out  by  a  porter,"  says  Mr. 
Eobert. 

"  Perhaps,"  says  he;  "  but  it  wouldn't  look 
nice.  I'd  be  in  evening  clothes,  you  see.  The- 
crowd  would  know  at  once  that  I  was  a  gentle 
man.  Reporters  would  come.  I  should  tell  a 
most  harrowing  tale.  You'd  deny  it,  of  course; 
but  half  the  people  would  believe  me.  No,  no, 
Bob!  Three  hours  ago,  in  my  old  rags,  you 
might  have  kicked  me  into  the  gutter,  and  no- 
one  would  have  made  any  fuss  at  all.  But  now ! 


202  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

Why,  it  would  be  absurd!  I  should  make  a 
mighty  row  over  it." 

11  You  threaten  blackmail?  "  says  Mr.  Rob 
ert,  leanin'  towards  him  savage. 

"  That  is  one  of  my  more  reputable  accom 
plishments,"  says  Bunny.  "  But  why  force  me 
to  that?  I  have  quite  a  reasonable  proposal 
to  submit." 

"If  it  has  anything  to  do  with  getting  you 
so  far  away  from  New  York  that  you'll  never 
come  back,  I'll  listen  to  it,"  says  Mr.  Robert. 

"  You  state  the  case  exactly,"  says  Bunny. 
* '  In  Paris  I  got  to  know  a  chap  by  the  name  of 
Dick  Langdon;  English,  you  know,  and  a 
younger  son.  His  uncle's  a  Sir  Something  or 
Other.  Dick  was  going  the  pace.  He'd  annexed 
some  funds  that  he'd  found  lying  around  loose. 
Purely  a  family  affair;  no  prosecution.  A  nice 
youth,  Langdon.  We  were  quite  congenial. 

"  A  year  or  so  ago  I  ran  across  him  again, 
down  in  Santa  Marta.  He  was  wearing  a  sun 
helmet  and  a  white  linen  suit.  He  said  he'd 
been  shipped  down  there  as  superintendent  of  a 
banana  plantation  about  twenty  miles  back  from 
the  port.  He  had  half  a  hundred  blacks  and  as 
many  East  Indian  coolies  under  him.  There 
was  no  one  else  within  miles.  Once  a  month 
he  got  down  to  see  the  steamer  load  and  watch 
the  white  faces  hungrily.  I  was  only  a  cabin 
steward  leaning  over  the  rail;  but  he  was  so 


THE  PASSING  BY  OF  BUNNY     203 

tickled  to  see  me  that  he  begged  me  to  quit  and 
go  back  to  the  plantation  with  him.  He  said 
he'd  make  me  assistant  superintendent,  or  per 
manent  guest,  or  anything.  But  I  was  crazy 
to  see  New  York  once  more.  I  wouldn't  listen. 
Well,  I've  seen  New  York,  seen  enough  of  it  to 
last  a  lifetime.  What  do  you  say?  ' 

11  When  could  you  get  a  steamer?  "  asks  Mr. 
Eobert. 

"  The  Arapequa  sails  at  ten  in  the  morning," 
says  Bunny  eager.  "  Fare  forty-eight  dollars 
one  way.  I  could  go  aboard  now.  Dick  would 
hail  me  as  a  man  and  a  brother.  I'm  his  kind. 
He'd  see  that  I  never  had  money  enough  to  get 
away.  I  think  I  might  possibly  earn  my  keep 
bossing  coolies  too.  And  the  pulque  down  there 
helps  you  to  forget  your  troubles." 

"  Torchy,"  says  Mr.  Eobert,  "  ask  Barney  to 
call  a  cab." 

"  And,  by  the  way,"  Bunny  is  sayin'  as  I 
come  back, ' '  you  might  chuck  in  a  business  suit 
and  a  few  white  flannels  into  a  grip,  Bob.  You 
wouldn't  want  me  to  arrive  in  South  America 
dressed  like  this,  would  you?  " 

"  Very  well,"  says  Mr.  Robert.  "  But  what 
I'm  most  concerned  about  is  that  you  do  arrive 
there." 

"  But  how  do  you  know,  Mr.  Robert,"  says 
I  next  mornin',  "  that  he  will?  " 


204  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

11  Because  I  locked  him  in  his  stateroom  my 
self,"  says  he,  "  and  bribed  a  steward  not  to 
let  him  out  until  he  could  see  Barnegat  light 
over  the  stern." 

"  Gee !  "  says  I.  "  That's  one  way  of  losin'  a 
better  days'  proposition.  And  in  case  any 
others  like  him  turns  up,  Mr.  Robert,  have  you 
got  any  more  old  dress  suits?  " 

"  If  I  have,"  says  he,  "  I  shall  burn  them." 


CHAPTER  XH 

\ 

THE  GLAD  HAIL  FOB  TOECHY 

I'LL  say  this  for  Aunty:  She's  doin'  her  best. 
About  all  she's  omitted  is  lockin'  Vee  in  a  safety 
deposit  vault  and  forgettin'  the  combination. 

Say,  you'd  most  think  I  was  as  catchin'  as  a 
case  of  measles.  I  wish  it  was  so;  for  once  in 
awhile,  in  spite  of  Aunty,  Vee  gets  exposed. 
That's  all  the  good  it  does,  though.  What's 
a  few  minutes'  chat  with  the  only  girl  that  ever 
was?  It's  a  wonder  we  don't  have  to  be 
introduced  all  over  again.  That  would  be  the 
case  with  some  girls.  But  Vee!  Say,  lemme 
put  you  wise — Vee's  diff'rent!  Uh-huh,!  I 
found  that  out  all  by  myself.  I  don't  know  just 
where  it  comes  in,  or  how,  but  she  is. 

All  of  which  makes  it  just  so  much  worse 
when  she  and  Aunty  does  the  summer  flit. 
Course,  I  saw  it  comin'  'way  back  early  in  June, 
and  then  the  first  thing  I  know  they're  gone. 
I  gets  a  bulletin  now  and  then, — Lenox,  the 
Pier,  Newport,  and  so  on, — sometimes  from 
Vee,  sometimes  by  readin'  the  society  notes. 
•Must  be  great  to  have  the  papers  keep  track 

205 


206  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

of  you,  the  way  they  do  of  Aunty.  And  it's 
so  comfortin'  to  me,  strayin'  lonesome  into  a 
Broadway  movie  show  of  a  hot  evenin',  to  know 
that '  *  among  the  debutantes  at  a  tea  dance  given 
in  the  Casino  by  Mrs.  Percy  Bonehead  yester 
day  afternoon  was  Miss  Verona  Hemmingway." 
Oh,  sure !  Say,  how  many  moves  am  I  from  a 
tea  dance — me  here  behind  the  brass  rail  at  the 
Corrugated,  with  Piddie  gettin'  fussy,  and  Old 
Hickory  jabbin'  the  buzzer? 

And  then,  just  when  I'm  peevish  enough  to 
be  canned  and  served  with  lamb  chops,  here 
comes  this  glad  word  out  of  the  State  of  Maine. 
"  It's  nice  up  here,"  says  she;  "  but  awfully 
stupid.  VEE."  That's  all — just  a  picture  post 
card.  But,  say,  I'd  have  put  it  in  a  solid  gold 
frame  if  there 'd  been  one  handy. 

As  it  is,  I  sticks  the  card  up  on  the  desk  in 
front  of  me  and  gazes  longin'.  Some  shack,  I 
should  judge  by  the  picture, — one  of  these  low, 
wide  affairs,  all  built  of  cobblestones,  with  a 
red  tile  roof  and  yellow  awnin's.  Right  on  the 
water  too.  You  can  see  the  waves  frothin'  al 
most  up  to  the  front  steps.  Roarin'  Rocks, 
Maine,  is  the  name  of  the  place  printed  under 
neath. 

"  Nice,  but  stupid,  eh?  "  says  I  confidential 
to  myself.  "  That's  too  bad.  Wonder  if  I'd  be 
bored  to  death  with  a  week  or  so  up  there?  I 
wonder  what  she'd  say  if " 


THE  GLAD  HAIL  FOR  TORCHY    207 

B-r-r-r-r!  B-r-r-r-r-r !  That's  always  the 
way!  I  just  get  started  on  some  rosy  dream, 
and  I'm  sailin'  aloft  miles  and  miles  away,  when 
off  goes  that  blamed  buzzer,  and  back  I  flop 
into  this  same  old  chair  behind  the  same  old 
brass  rail!  All  for  what?  Why,  Mr.  Robert 
wants  a  tub  of  desk  pins.  I  gets  'em  from  Pid- 
die,  trots  in,  and  slams  'em  down  snappy  at  Mr. 
Robert's  elbow. 

11  Eh?  "  says  he,  glancin'  up  startled. 

"  Said  pins,  dintcher?  "  says  I. 

"  Why — er — yes,"  says  he,  "  I  believe  I  did. 
Thank  you." 

"  Huh!  "  says  I,  turnin'  on  my  heel. 

11  Oh— er— Torchy!  "  he  adds. 

"  Well?  "  says  I  over  my  shoulder. 

"  Might  one  inquire,"  says  he,  "is  it  dis 
tress,  or  only  disposition?  " 

"  It  ain't  the  effect  of  too  much  fresh  air, 
anyway,"  says  I. 

* '  Ah !  ' '  says  he,  sort  of  reflective.  ' l  Feel 
ing  the  need  of  a  half  holiday,  are  you?  " 

' '  Humph !  ' '  says  I.  ' '  What 's  the  good  of 
an  afternoon  off?  " 

He  'd  just  come  back  from  a  two  weeks '  cruise, 
Mr.  Robert  had,  lookin'  tanned  and  husky,  and 
a  little  later  on  he  was  goin'  off  on  another 
jaunt.  Course,  that's  all  right,  too.  I'd 
take  'em  oftener  if  I  was  him.  But  hanged 
if  I'd  sit  there  starin'  puzzled  at  anyone 


208  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

else  who  couldn't,  the  way  he  was  doin'  at 
me! 

"  Mr.  Robert/'  says  I,  spunkin'  up  sudden, 
"  what's  the  matter  with  me  takin'  a  vaca 
tion?  " 

' '  Why, ' '  says  he,  ' '  I — I  presume  it  might  be 
arranged.  When  would  you  wish  to  gol  ' 

"  When?  n  says  I.  "  Why,  now — tonight. 
Say,  honest,  if  I  try  to  stick  out  the  week  I'll 
get  to  be  a  grouch  nurser,  like  Piddie.  I'm 
sick  of  the  shop,  sick  of  answerin'  buzzers, 
sick  of  everything!  ': 

It  wa'n't  what  you  might  call  a  smooth  open- 
in',  and  from  most  bosses  I  expect  it  would 
have  won  me  a  free  pass  to  all  outdoors.  But 
I  guess  Mr.  Robert  knows  what  these  balky 
moods  are  himself.  He  only  humps  his  eye 
brows  humorous  and  chuckles. 

"  That's  rather  abrupt,  isn't  it?  "  says  he. 
<i  But  perhaps — er — just  where  is  she  now, 
Torchy?  " 

I  grins  back  sheepish.  "  Coast  of  Maine," 
says  I. 

"  Well,  well!  "  says  he.  "  Then  you'll  need 
a  two  weeks '  advance,  at  least.  There !  Present 
this  to  the  cashier.  And  there  is  a  good  express, 
I  believe,  at  eight  o'clock  tonight.  Luck  to 
you!  " 

"  Mr.  Robert,"  says  I,  choky,  "  you — you're 
I-double-It  with  me.  Thanks." 


THE  GLAD  HAIL  FOE  TORCHY    209 

"  My  best  regards  to  Kennebunk,  Cape  Ned- 
dick,  and  Eggemoggen  Reach,"  says  he  as  we 
swaps  grips. 

Say,  there's  some  boss  for  you,  eh?  But  how 
he  could  dope  out  the  symptoms  so  accurate  is 
what  gets  me.  Anyhow,  he  had  the  answer; 
for  I  don't  stop  to  consult  any  vacation  guide 
book  or  summer  tours  pamphlet.  I  beats  it  for 
the  Grand  Central,  pushes  up  to  the  ticket  win 
dow,  and  calls  for  a  round  trip  to  Roaring 
Rocks. 

11  Nothing  doing,"  says  the  guy.  "  Give  you 
Bass  Rocks,  Seal  Rocks,  or  six  varieties  of 
Spouting  Rocks;  but  no  Roaring  ones  on  the 
list.  Any  choice?  " 

"  Gwan,  you  fresh  Mellen  seed!  "  says  I. 
"  You  got  to  have  'em.  It  says  so  on  the  card," 
and  I  shoves  the  postal  at  him. 

"  Ah,  yes,  my  young  ruddy  duck,"  says  he. 
"  Postmarked  Boothbay  Harbor,  isn't  it?  Bath 
for  yours.  Change  there  for  steamer.  Upper's 
the  best  I  can  do  for  you — drawing  rooms  all 
gone. ' ' 

"  Seein'  how  my  private  car's  bein'  reup- 
holstered,  I'll  chance  an  upper,"  says  I.  "  Only 
don't  put  any  nose  trombone  artist  under 
neath." 

Yes,  I  was  feelin'  some  gayer  than  a  few 
hours  before.  What  did  I  care  if  the  old  town 
was  warmin'  up  as  we  pulls  out  until  it  felt  like 


210  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

a  Turkish  bath?  I  was  bound  north  on  the  map, 
with  my  new  Norfolk  suit  and  three  outing 
shirts  in  my  bag,  a  fair-sized  wad  of  spendin' 
kale  buttoned  into  my  back  pocket,  and  that  card 
of  Vee's  stowed  away  careful.  Say,  I  should 
worry!  And  don't  they  do  some  breezin'  along 
on  that  Bar  Harbor  express  while  you  sleep, 
though? 

"  What  cute  little  village  is  this?  "  says  I 
to  Eastus  in  the  washroom  next  mornin'  about 
six-thirty  A.  M. 

"Pohtland,  Suh,"  says  he.  "  Breakfast 
stop,  Suh." 

' '  Me  for  it,  then, ' '  saj7s  I.  ' '  When  in  Maine 
be  a  maniac."  So  I  tackles  a  plate  of  pork-and 
on  its  native  heath;  also  a  hunk  of  pie. 
M-m-m-m!  They  sure  can  build  pie  up  there! 

It's  quite  some  State,  Maine.  Bath  is  several 
jumps  on,  and  that  next  joint—  Say,  it  wa  'n 't 
until  I'd  changed  to  the  steamer  and  was  lookin' 
over  my  ticket  that  I  sees  anything  familiar 
about  the  name.  Boothbay!  Why,  wa'n't  that 
the  Rube  spot  this  Ira  Higgins  hailed  from? 
Maybe  you  remember, — Ira,  who'd  come  on  to 
see  Mr.  Robert  about  buildin'  a  new  racin' 
yacht,  the  tall,  freckled  gink  with  a  love  affair 
on  his  mind?  Why,  sure,  this  was  Ira's  Har 
bor  I  was  headed  for.  And,  say,  I  didn't  feel 
half  so  strange  about  explorin'  the  State  after 
that.  For  Ira,  you  know,  is  a  friend  of  mine. 


THE  GLAD  HAIL  FOR  TORCHY    211 

Havin '  settled  that  with  myself,  I  throws  out 
my  chest  and  roams  around  the  decks,  climbin' 
every  flight  of  stairs  I  came  to,  until  I  gets  to  a 
comfy  little  coop  on  the  very  top  where  a  long 
guy  wearin'  white  suspenders  over  a  blue  flan 
nel  shirt  is  jugglin'  the  steerin'  wheel. 

"  Hello,  Cap!  "  says  I.  "  How's  she  head- 
in'?  " 

He  ain't  one  of  the  sociable  kind,  though. 
You'd  most  thought,  from  the  reprovin'  stare 
he  gives  me,  that  he  didn't  appreciate  good 
comp  'ny. 

"  Can't  you  read?  "  says  he. 

"  Ah,  you  mean  the  Keep-Out  sign?  Sure, 
Pete,"  says  I;  "  but  I  can't  see  it  from  in 
here." 

*  *  Then  git  out  where  you  can  see  it  plainer, '  * 
says  he. 

"  Ah,  quit  your  kiddin'!  "  says  I.  "  That's 

for  the  common  herd,  ain't  it?  Now,  I 

Say,  if  it'll  make  you  feel  any  better,  I'll  tell 
you  who  I  am." 

"  Say  it  quick  then,"  says  he.  "  Are  you 
Woodrow  Wilson,  or  only  the  Secretary  of  the 
Navy?  " 

"  You're  warm,"  says  I.  "  I'm  a  friend  of 
Ira  Higgins  of  Boothbay  Harbor." 

11  Sho!  "  says  he,  removin'  his  pipe  and  be- 
ginnin'  to  act  human. 

"  Happen  to  know  Ira?  "  says  I. 


212  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

11  Ought  to,"  says  he.  "  First  cousins.  You 
from  Boston?  " 

"  Why,  Cap!  "  says  I.  "  What  have  I  ever 
done  to  you?  Now,  honest,  do  I  look  like  I— 
but  I'll  forgive  you  this  time.  New  York,  Cap : 
not  Brooklyn,  or  Staten  Island  or  the  Bronx, 
you  know,  but  straight  New  York,  West  17th-st. 
And  I've  come  all  this  way  just  to  see  Mr. 
Higgins. ' ' 

11  Gosh!  "  says  he.  "  Ira  always  did  have 
all  the  luck." 

Next  crack  he  calls  me  Sorrel  Top,  and  in 
side  of  five  minutes  we  was  joshin'  away 
chummy,  me  up  on  a  tall  stool  alongside,  and 
him  pointin'  out  all  the  sights.  And,  believe 
me,  the  State  of  Maine's  got  some  scenery 
scattered  along  the  wot  edge  of  it !  Honest,  it's 
nothin '  but  scenery, — rocks  and  trees  and  water, 
and  water  and  trees  and  rocks,  and  then  a  few 
more  rocks. 

1  i  How  about  when  you  hit  one  of  them  sharp 
ones?  "  says  I. 

"  Government  files  a  new  edge  on  it,"  says 
he.  ' '  They  keep  a  gang  that  does  nothin '  else. ' ' 

"  Think  of  that!  "  says  I.  "  I  don't  see  any 
lobsters  floatin'  around,  though." 

"  Too  late  in  the  day,"  says  he.  "  'Fraid 
of  gittin'  sunburned.  You  want  to  watch  for 
'em  about  daybreak.  Millions  then.  Travel  in 
flocks." 


THE  GLAD  HAIL  FOR  TORCHY    213 

"  Ye-e-es?  "  says  I.  "  All  hangin'  onto  a 
string,  I  expect.  But  why  the  painted  posts 
stickin'  up  out  of  the  water?  " 

"  Hitchin'  posts,"  says  he,  "  for  sea 
bosses." 

Oh,  I  got  a  bunch  of  valuable  marine  informa 
tion  from  him,  and  when  the  second  mate  came 
up  he  added  a  lot  more.  If  I  hadn't  thought  to 
tell  'em  how  there  was  always  snow  on  the 
Singer  and  Woolworth  towers,  and  how  the 
East  Side  gunmen  was  on  strike  to  raise  the 
homicide  price  to  three  dollars  and  seventy-five 
cents,  they'd  had  me  well  Sweeneyed.  As  it 
was,  I  guess  we  split  about  even. 

Him  findin'  Boothbay  Harbor  among  all  that 
snarl  of  islands  and  channels  wa'n't  any  bluff, 
though.  That  was  the  real  sleight  of  hand.  As 
we're  comin'  up  to  the  dock,  he  points  out  Ira's 
boatworks,  just  on  the  edge  of  the  town.  Half 
an  hour  later  I've  left  my  baggage  at  the  hotel 
and  am  interviewin'  Mr.  Higgins. 

He's  the  same  old  Ira;  only  he's  wearin* 
blue  overalls  and  a  boiled  shirt  with  the  sleeves 
rolled  up. 

"  Roarin'  Rocks,  eh?"  says  he.  "  Why, 
that's  the  Hollister  place  on  Gunner  Point, 
about  three  miles  up." 

"  Can  I  get  a  trolley?  "  says  I. 

"  Trolley!"  says  he.  ''Why,  Son,  there 
ain't  any  'lectric  cars  nearer 'n  Bath." 


214  ON  WITH  TOECHY 

' '  Gee,  what  a  jay  burg !  ' '  says  I.  * '  How 
about  a  ferry,  then?  " 

Ira  shakes  his  head.  Seems  Eoarin'  Eocks 
is  a  private  joint,  the  summer  place  of  this  Mr. 
Hollister  who's  described  by  Ira  as  "  richer 'n 
Croesus  '  —whatever  that  might  mean.  Any 
way,  they're  exclusive  parties  that  don't  en 
courage  callers;  for  the  only  way  of  gettin' 
there  is  over  a  private  road  around  the 
head  of  the  bay,  or  by  hirin'  a  launch  to  take 
you  up. 

"  Generally,"  says  Ira,  "  they  send  one  of 
their  boats  down  to  meet  company.  Now,  if 
they  was  expectin'  you— 


. . 


That's  just  it,"  I  breaks  in,  "  they  ain't. 
Fact  is,  Ira,  there's  a  young  lady  visitin'  there 
with  her  aunt,  and — and — well,  Aunty  and  me 
ain't  so  chummy  as  we  might  be." 

"  Just  so,"  says  Ira,  noddin'  wise. 

"  Now  my  plan  was  to  go  up  there  and  kind 
of  stick  around,  you  know,"  says  I,  "  sort  of 
in  the  shade,  until  the  young  lady  strolled  out." 

Ira  shakes  his  head  discouragin'.  "  They're 
mighty  uppish  folks,"  says  he.  "  Got  '  No 
Trespass  '  signs  all  over  the  place — dogs  too." 

"  Hellup !  "  says  I.  "  What  am  I  up  against? 
Why  don't  Aunty  travel  with  a  bunch  of  gum 
shoe  guards  and  be  done  with  it?  ' 

"  Tell  you  what,"  says  Ira,  struck  by  a  stray 
thought,  "  if  lookin'  the  place  over '11  do  any 


good,  you  might  go  out  with  Eb  Westcott  this 
afternoon  when  he  baits.  He's  got  pots  all 
around  the  point." 

That  don't  mean  such  a  lot  to  me;  but  my 
middle  name  is  Brodie.  "  Show  me  Eb," 
says  I. 

He  wa'n't  any  thrillin'  sight,  Eb;  mostly  rub 
ber  hip  boots,  flannel  shirt,  and  whiskers.  He 
could  have  been  cleaner.  So  could  his  old  tub 
of  a  lobster  boat ;  but  not  while  he  stuck  to  that 
partic'lar  line  of  business,  I  guess.  And,  say, 
I  know  now  what  baitin'  is.  It's  haulin'  up  lob 
ster  pots  from  the  bottom  of  the  ocean  and 
decoratin'  'em  inside  with  fish — ripe  fish,  at 
that.  The  scheme  is  to  lure  the  lobsters  into 
the  pot.  Seems  to  work  too ;  but  I  guess  a  lob 
ster  ain't  got  any  sense  of  smell. 

"  Better  put  on  some  old  clothes  fust,"  ad 
vised  Eb,  and  as  I  always  like  to  dress  the  part 
I  borrows  a  moldy  suit  of  oilskins  from  Ira,  in- 
cludin'  one  of  these  yellow  sea  bonnets,  and 
climbs  aboard. 

It 's  a  one-lunger  putt-putt — and  take  it  from 
me  the  combination  of  gasolene  and  last  Tues 
day's  fish  ain't  anything  like  Eau  d'Espagne! 
Quite  different!  Also  I  don't  care  for  that 
jumpy  up  and  down  motion  one  of  these  little 
boats  gets  on,  specially  after  pie  and  beans  for 
breakfast.  Then  Eb  hands  me  the  steerin' 
ropes  while  he  whittles  some  pressed  oakum  off 


216  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

the  end  of  a  brunette  plug  and  loads  his  pipe. 
More  perfume  comin '  my  way ! 

"  Ever  try.smokin'  formaldehyde?  "  says  I. 

"  Gosh,  no!  "  says  Eb.    "  What's  it  like?  " 

"  You  couldn't  tell  the  diff 'rence,"  says  I. 

11  We  git  tin  tags  off 'm  Sailor's  Pride,"  says 
Eb.  "  Save  up  fifty,  and  you  git  a  premium." 

11  You  ought  to,"  says  I,  "  and  a  pension  for 
life." 

"  Huh!  "  says  Eb.  ''It's  good  eatin'  too. 
Ever  chaw  any?  "  and  he  holds  out  the  plug 
invitin '. 

11  Don't  tempt  me,"  says  I.  "I  promised 
my  dear  old  grandmother  I  wouldn't." 

"  Lookin'  a  little  peaked,  ain't  you!  "  says 
he.  "  Most  city  chaps  do  when  they  fust  come; 
but  after  'bout  a  month  of  this— 

"  Chop  it,  Eb!  "  says  I.  "I'm  feelin'  un 
happy  enough  as  it  is.  A  month  of  this?  Ah, 
say!  " 

After  awhile  we  begun  stoppin'  to  bait.  Eb 
would  shut  off  the  engine,  run  up  to  a  float, 
haul  in  a  lot  of  clothesline,  and  fin'lly  pull  up  an 
affair  that's  a  cross  between  a  small  crockery 
crate  and  an  openwork  hen-coop.  Next  he'd 
grab  a  big  needle  and  string  a  dozen  or  so  of 
the  gooey  fish  on  a  cord.  I  watched  once. 
After  that  I  turned  my  back.  By  way  of  bein' 
obligin',  Eb  showed  me  how  to  roll  the  fly 
wheel  and  start  the  engine.  He  said  I  was  a 


THE  GLAD  HAIL  FOE  TOECHY    217 

heap  stronger  in  the  arms  than  I  looked,  and 
he  didn't  mind  lettin'  me  do  it  right  along. 
Friendly  old  yap,  Eb  was.  I  kept  on  rollin* 
the  wheel. 

So  about  three  P.  M.,  as  we  was  workin'  our 
way  along  the  shore,  Eb  looks  up  and  remarks, 
"  Here's  the  Hollister  place,  Eoarin'  Eocks." 

Sure  enough  there  it  wasy  almost  like  the 
postcard  picture,  only  not  colored  quite  so  vivid. 

"  Folks  are  out  airin'  themselves  too,"  he 
goes  on. 

They  were.  I  could  see  three  or  four  people 
movin'  about  on  the  veranda;  for  we  wa'n't 
more'n  half  a  block  away.  First  off  I  spots 
Aunty.  She's  paradin'  up  and  down,  stiff  and 
stately,  and  along  with  her  waddles  a  wide, 
dumpy  female  in  pink.  And  next,  all  in  white, 
and  lookin'  as  slim  and  graceful  as  an  Easter 
lily,  I  makes  out  Vee ;  also  a  young  gent  in  white 
flannels  and  a  striped  tennis  blazer.  He's  smok- 
in'  a  cigarette  and  swingin'  a  racket  jaunty. 
I  could  even  hear  Vee's  laugh  ripple  out  across 
the  water.  You  remember  how  she  put  it  too, 
"  nice,  but  awfully  stupid."  Seems  she  was 
makin'  the  best  of  it,  though. 

And  here  I  was,  in  Ira's  baggy  oilskins,  my 
feet  in  six  inches  of  oily  brine,  squattin'  on  the 
edge  of  a  smelly  fish  box  tryin'  to  hold  down 
a  piece  of  custard  pie!  No,  that  wa'n't  ex 
actly  the  rosy  picture  I  threw  on  the  screen 


218  ON  WITH  TOUCHY 

fcack  in  the  Corrugated  gen'ral  offices  only  yes 
terday.  Nothing  like  that!  I  don't  do  any 
hoo-hooin',  or  wave  any  private  signals.  I 
pulls  the  sticky  sou'wester  further  down  over 
my  eyes  and  squats  lower  in  the  boat. 

"  Look  kind  o'  gay  and  festive,  don't  they?  " 
says  Eb,  straightenin'  up  and  wipin'  his  hands 
on  his  corduroys. 

"  Who's  the  party  in  the  tennis  outfit?  " 
says  I. 

"  Him?  "  says  Eb,  gawpin'  ashore.  "  Must 
"be  young  Hollister,  that  owns  the  mahogany 
speed  boat.  Stuck  up  young  dude,  I  guess. 
Wall,  five  more  traps  to  haul,  and  we  're  through, 
Son." 

"  Let's  go  haul  'em,  then,"  says  I,  grabbin' 
the  flywheel. 

Great  excursion,  that  was!  Once  more  on 
land,  I  sneaked  soggy  footed  up  to  the  hotel  and 
piked  for  my  room.  I  shied  supper  and  went  to 
the  feathers  early,  trustin'  that  if  I  could  get 
stretched  out  level  with  my  eyes  shut  things 
would  stop  wavin'  and  bobbin'  around.  That 
•was  good  dope  too. 

I  rolled  out  next  mornin'  feelin'  fine  and 
silky;  but  not  so  cocky  by  half.  Somehow,  I 
wa'n't  gettin'  any  of  the  lucky  breaks  I'd  looked 
for. 

My  total  programme  for  the  day  was  just  to 
bat  around  Boothbay.  And,  say,  of  all  the  lone- 


THE  GLAD  HAIL  FOE  TOUCHY    219 

some  places  for  city  clothes  and  a  straw  lid! 
Honest,  I  never  saw  so  many  yachty  rigs  in  my 
life, — young  chaps  in  white  ducks  and  sneakers 
and  canvas  shoes,  girls  in  middie  blouses,  old 
guys  in  white  flannels  and  yachtin'  caps,  even 
old  ladies  dressed  sporty  and  comf 'table — and 
more  square  feet  of  sunburn  than  would  cover 
Union  Square.  I  felt  like  a  blond  Eskimo  at 
a  colored  camp  meetin'. 

As  everyone  was  either  comin'  from  or  goin' 
to  the  docks,  I  wanders  down  there  too,  and 
loafs  around  watchin'  the  steamers  arrive,  and 
the  big  sailin'  yachts  anchored  off  in  the  harbor, 
and  the  little  boats  dodgin'  around  in  the  choppy 
water.  There's  a  crisp,  salty  breeze  that's 
makin'  the  flags  snap,  the  sun's  shinin'  bright, 
and  take  it  altogether  it's  some  brilliant  scene. 
Only  I'm  on  the  outside  peekin'  in. 

"  What's  the  use?  "  thinks  I.  "  I'm  off  my 
beat  up  here." 

Fin'lly  I  drifts  down  to  the  Yacht  Club  float, 
where  the  launches  was  comin'  in  thick.  I  must 
have  been  there  near  an  hour,  swappin'  never  a 
word  with  anybody,  and  gettin'  lonesomer  by 
the  minute,  when  in  from  the  harbor  dashes  a 
long,  low,  dark-colored  boat  and  comes  rushin' 
at  the  float  like  it  meant  to  make  a  hydroplane 
jump.  At  the  wheel  I  gets  sight  of  a  young 
chap  who  has  sort  of  a  worried,  scared  look 
on  his  face.  Also  he's  wearin'  a  striped  blazer. 


220  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

"  Young  Hollister,  maybe,"  thinks  I.  "  And 
he's  in  for  a  smash." 

Just  then  he  manages  to  throw  in  his  reverse; 
but  it's  a  little  late,  for  he's  got  a  lot  of 
headway.  Honest,  I  didn't  think  it  out.  And  I 
was  achin'  to  butt  into  something.  I  jumped 
quick,  grabbed  the  bow  as  it  came  in  reach, 
shoved  it  off  vigorous,  and  brought  him  along 
side  the  fenders  without  even  scratchin'  the 
varnish. 

"  Thanks,  old  chap,"  says  he.  "  Saved  me 
a  bad  bump  there.  I — I'm  greatly  obliged." 

"  You're  welcome,"  says  I.  "  You  was 
steamin'  in  a  little  strong." 

* '  I  haven 't  handled  the  Vixen  much  myself, ' ' 
says  he.  "  You  see,  our  boatman's  laid  up, — 
sprained  ankle, — and  I  had  to  come  down  from 
the  Rocks  for  some  gasolene." 

"Oh!    Roarin' Rocks?  "  says  I. 

"  Yes,"  says  he.  "  Where's  that  fool  float 
tender?  " 

"  Just  gone  into  the  clubhouse,"  says  I. 
"  Maybe  I  could  keep  her  from  bumpin'  while 
you're  gone." 

"  By  Jove!  would  you?  "  says  he,  handin' 
over  a  boathook. 

Even  then  I  wa'n't  layin'  any  scheme.  I 
helps  when  they  put's  the  gas  in,  and  makes  my 
self  gen 'rally  useful.  Also  I'm  polite  and  re 
spectful,  which  seems  to  make  a  hit  with  him. 


"  Deuced  bother,"  says  he,  "  not  having  any 
man.  I  had  a  picnic  planned  for  today  too." 

"  That  so?  "  says  I.  "  Well,  I'm  no  marine 
engineer,  but  I'm  just  killin'  time  around  here, 
and  if  I  could  help  any  way " 

11  Oh,  I  say,  but  that's  jolly  of  you,"  says  he. 
' '  I  wonder  if  you  would,  for  a  day  or  so  I  My 
name's  Hollister,  Payne  Hollister." 

He  wa'n't  Payne  to  me.  He  was  Joy. 
Easy?  Why,  he  fairly  pushes  me  into  it !  Digs 
a  white  jumper  out  of  a  locker  for  me,  and  a 
little  round  canvas  hat  with  "  Vixen  "  on  the 
front,  and  trots  back  uptown  to  buy  me  a  swell 
pair  of  rubber-soled  deck  shoes.  Business  of 
quick  change  for  yours  truly.  Then  look !  Say, 
here  I  am,  just  about  the  yachtiest  thing  in 
sight,  leanin'  back  on  the  steerin'  seat  cushions 
of  a  classy  speed  boat  that's  headed  towards 
Vee  at  a  twenty-mile  clip. 


CHAPTER  XHI 

AUNTY  FLAGS  A  ROSY  ONE 

LEMME  see,  I  was  headed  out  of  Boothbay 
Harbor,  Maine,  bound  for  Roarin'  Rocks,  wa'n't 
I?  Hold  the  picture, — me  in  a  white  jumper 
and  little  round  canvas  hat  with  "  Vixen  " 
printed  across  the  front,  white  shoes  too,  and 
altogether  as  yachty  as  they  come.  Don't  for 
get  young  Mr.  Payne  Hollister  at  the  wheel, 
either;  although  whether  I'd  kidnapped  him, 
or  he'd  kidnapped  me,  is  open  for  de 
bate. 

Anyway,  here  I  was,  subbin'  incog  for  the 
reg'lar  crew,  who  was  laid  up  with  a  sprained 
ankle.  All  that  because  I'd  got  the  happy  hail 
from  Vee  on  a  postcard.  It  wa'n't  any  time  for 
unpleasant  thoughts  then;  but  I  couldn't  help 
wonderin'  how  soon  Aunty  would  loom  on  the 
horizon  and  spoil  it  all. 

"  So  there's  a  picnic  on  the  slate,  eh?  "  I 
suggests. 

Young  Mr.  Hollister  nods.  "  I'd  promised 
some  of  the  folks  at  the  house,"  says  he. 
"  Guests,  you  know." 

222 


AUNTY  FLAGS  A  EOSY  ONE      223 

"  Oh,  yes,"  says  I,  feelin'  a  little  shiver 
flicker  down  my  spine. 

I  knew.  Vee  was  a  guest  there.  So  was 
Aunty.  The  picnic  prospects  might  have  been 
more  allurin'.  But  I'd  butted  in,  and  this  was 
no  time  to  back  out.  Besides,  I  was  more  or 
less  int 'rested  in  sizin'  up  Payne  Hollister, 
Tall,  slim,  young  gent ;  dark,  serious  eyes ;  nose 
a  little  prominent;  and  his  way  of  speakin'  and 
actin'  a  bit  pompous, — one  of  them  impatient, 
quick-motioned  kind  that  wants  to  do  everything 
in  a  minute.  He  keeps  gettin'  up  and  starin* 
ahead,  like  he  wa'n't  quite  sure  where  he  was 
goin',  and  then  leanin'  over  to  squint  at  the 
engine  restless. 

"  Just  see  if  those  forward  oil  cups  are  fullr 
will  you?  "  says  he. 

I  climbs    over    and    inspects.      Everything 
seems  to  be  0.  K. ;  although  what  I  don 't  know 
about  a  six-cylinder  marine  engine  is  amazin', 

II  "We're   slidin'  through  the  water   slick," 
says  I. 

"  She  can  turn  up  much  faster  than  this," 
says  he;  "  only  I  don't  dare  open  her  wide." 

I  was  satisfied.  I  could  use  a  minute  or  so- 
about  then  to  plot  out  a  few  scenarios  dealin' 
with  how  a  certain  party  would  act  in  case  of 
makin'  a  sudden  discovery.  But  I  hadn't  got 
past  picturin'  the  cold  storage  stare  before  the 
Hollister  place  shows  up  ahead,  Payne  throttles 


224  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

the  Vixen  down  cautious,  shoots  her  in  be 
tween  a  couple  of  rocky  points,  and  fetches  her 
up  alongside  a  rope-padded  private  float. 
There's  some  steps  leadin'  up  to  the  top  of  the 
rocks. 

"  Do  you  mind  running  up  and  asking  if 
they're  ready?  "  says  Payne. 

"  Why,  no,"  says  I;  "  but — but  who  do  I 
ask?  " 

"  That's  so,"  says  he.  "And  they'll  not 
know  who  you  are,  either.  I'll  go.  Just  hold 
her  off." 

Me  with  a  boathook,  posin'  back  to  for  the 
next  ten  minutes,  not  even  darin'  to  rubber  over 
my  shoulder.  Then  voices,  ' '  Have  you  the  cof 
fee  bottles?  '  — - "  Don't  forget  the  steamer 
rugs." — "  I  put  the  olives  on  the  top  of  the 
sandwiches." — "  Be  careful  when  you  land, 
Mabel  dear."—"  Oh,  we'll  be  all  right."  This 
last  from  Vee. 

Another  minute  and  they're  down  on  the 
float,  with  Payne  Hollister  explaining  "  Oh,  I 
forgot.  This  is  someone  who  is  helping  me 
with  the  boat  while  Tucker's  disabled."  I 
touches  my  hat  respectful;  but  I'm  too  busy  to 
face  around — much  too  busy ! 

"  Now,  Cousin  Mabel,"  says  young  Hollister, 
* '  right  in  the  middle  of  that  seat !  Easy, 
now!  " 

A  squeal  from  Mabel.    No  wonder!    I  gets 


AUNTY  FLAGS  A  EOSY  ONE      225 

a  glimpse  of  her  as  she  steps  down,  and,  believe 
me,  if  I  had  Mabel's  shape  and  weight  you 
couldn't  tease  me  out  on  the  water  in  anything 
smaller 'n  the  Mauretania!  All  the  graceful 
lines  of  a  dumplin',  Mabel  had;  about  five  feet 
up  and  down,  and  'most  as  much  around.  Vee 
is  on  one  side,  Payne  on  the  other,  both  lowerin' 
away  careful ;  but  as  she  makes  the  final  plunge 
before  floppin'  onto  the  seat  she  reaches  out 
one  paw  and  annexes  my  right  arm.  Course 
that  swings  me  around  sudden,  and  I  finds  my 
self  gazin'  at  Vee  over  Payne  Hollister's  shoul 
ders,  not  three  feet  away. 

"  Oh!  "  says  she,  startled,  and  you  couldn't 
blame  her.  I  just  has  to  lay  one  finger  on  my 
lips  and  shake  my  head  mysterious. 

"  All  right!  "  sings  out  Payne,  straightenin' 
up.  "  Always  more  or  less  exciting  getting 
Cousin  Mabel  aboard;  but  it's  been  accom 
plished.  Now,  Verona! ': 

As  he  gives  her  a  hand  she  floats  in  as  light 
as  a  bird  landin'  in  a  treetop.  I  could  feel  her 
watchin'  me  curious  and  puzzled  as  I  passes  the 
picnic  junk  down  for  Hollister  to  stow  away. 
Course,  it  wa'n't  any  leadin '-heavy,  spotlight 
entrance  I  was  makin'  at  Roarin'  Rocks;  but 
it's  a  lot  better,  thinks  I,  than  not  bein'  there 
at  all. 

"  Oh,  dear,"  sighs  Mabel,  "  what  a  narrow, 
uncomfortable  seat !  ' ' 


226  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

"  Is  it,  really?  "  asks  Vee.  "  Can't  it  be 
fixed  someway,  Payne?  " 

"  Lemme  have  a  try!  "  says  I.  With  that  I 
stuffs  extra  cushions  around  her,  folds  up  a 
life  preserver  to  rest  her  feet  on,  and  drapes 
her  with  a  steamer  rug. 

"  Thanks,"  says  she,  sighin'  grateful  and 
rewardin'  me  with  a  display  of  dimples. 
"  What  is  your  name,  young  man?  " 

"  Why,"  says  I,  with  a  glance  at  Vee,  "  you 
can  just  call  me  Bill." 

"  Nonsense!  "  says  Mabel.  "  Your  name  is 
William." 

11  William  goes,  Miss,"  says  I;  and  as  she 
snuggles  down  I  chances  a  wink  Vee's  way. 
No  response,  though.  Vee  ain't  sure  yet 
whether  she  ought  to  grin  or  give  me  the  call- 
down. 

"  Cast  off!  "  says  Payne,  and  out  between 
the  rocks  we  shoot,  with  Aunty  and  Mrs.  Hoi- 
lister  wavin'  from  the  veranda.  Anyway,  that 
was  some  relief.  This  wa'n't  Aunty's  day  for 
picnickin'. 

She  didn't  know  what  she  was  missin',  I  ex 
pect;  for,  say,  that's  good  breathin'  air  up  off 
Boothbay.  There's  some  life  and  pep  to  it,  and 
rushin'  through  it  that  way  you  can't  help 
pumpin'  your  lungs  full.  Makes  you  glow  and 
tingle  inside  and  out.  Makes  you  want  to  holler. 
That,  and  the  sunshine  dancin'  on  the  water, 


AUNTY  FLAGS  A  ROSY  ONE      227 

and  the  feel  of  the  boat  slicin'  through  the 
waves,  the  engine  purrin'  away  a  sort  of  rag 
time  tune,  and  the  pennants  whippin',  and  all 
that  scenery  shiftin'  around  to  new  angles,  not 
to  mention  the  fact  that  Vee's  along — well,  I 
was  enjoyin'  life  about  then.  Kind  of  got  into 
my  blood.  Everything  was  lovely,  and  I  didn't 
care  what  happened  next. 

Me  bein'  the  crew,  I  expect  I  should  have 
been  fussin'  around  up  front,  coilin'  ropes,  or 
groomin'  the  machinery.  But  I  can't  make  my 
eyes  behave.  I  has  to  turn  around  every  now 
and  then  and  grin.  Mabel  don't  seem  to  mind. 

"  William,"  says  she,  signalin'  me,  "  see  if 
you  can't  find  a  box  of  candy  in  that  basket." 

I  hops  over  the  steerin'  seat  back  into  the 
standin'  room  and  digs  it  out.  Also  I  lingers 
around  while  Mabel  feeds  in  a  few  pieces. 

"  Have  some?  "  says  she.  "  You're  so  good- 
natured  looking." 

"  That's  my  long  suit,"  says  I. 

Then  I  see  Vee's  mouth  corners  twitchin', 
and  she  takes  her  turn.  "  You  live  around 
here,  I  suppose,  William?  "  says  she. 

'  *  No  such  luck, ' '  says  I.  "  I  come  up  special 
to  get  this  job." 

"  But,"  puts  in  Mabel,  holdin'  a  fat  choco 
late  cream  in  the  air,  "  Tucker  wasn't  hurt  un 
til  yesterday." 

"  That's  when  I  landed,"  says  I. 


228  ON  WITH  TOUCHY 

"  Someone  must  have  sent  you  word  then,'* 
says  Vee,  impish. 

"  Uh-huh,"  says  I.  "  Someone  mighty  spe 
cial  too.  Sweet  of  her,  wa'n't  it?  " 

"Oh!    A  girl?  "  asks  Mabel,  perkin'  up. 

"  The  girl,"  says  I. 

"  Tee-hee!  '  snickers  Mabel,  nudgin'  Vee 
delighted.  "  Is — is  she  very  nice,  William! 
Tell  us  about  her,  won't  you?  " 

"  Oh,  do!  "  says  Vee,  sarcastic. 

"  Well,"  says  I,  lookin'  at  Vee,  "  she's  about 
your  height  and  build." 

"  How  interesting!  "  says  Mabel,  with  an 
other  nudge.  "  Go  on.  What  kind  of 
hair?  " 

"  Never  was  any  like  it,"  says  I. 

"  But  her  complexion,"  insists  Mabel,  "  dark 
or  fair?  " 

"  Pink  roses  in  the  mornin',  with  the  dew 
on,"  says  I. 

"  Bravo!  "  says  Mabel,  clappin'  her  hands. 
"  And  her  eyes?  " 

"  Why,"  says  I,  "  maybe  you've  looked 
down  into  deep  sea  water  on  a  still,  gray  day? 
That's  it." 

"  She  must  be  a  beauty,"  says  Mabel. 

"  Nothing  but,"  says  I. 

"  I  hope  she  has  a  nice  disposition  too,"  says 
she. 

"  Nope,"  says  I,  shakin'  my  head  solemn. 


AUNTY  FLAGS  A  EOSY  ONE      229 

"  Humph!  What's  the  matter  with  that?  " 
says  Vee. 

11  Jumpy,"  says  I.  "  Eed  pepper  and  pow 
dered  sugar ;  sometimes  all  sugar,  sometimes  all 
pepper,  then  again  a  mixture.  You  never  can 
tell." 

"  Then  I'd  throw  her  over,"  says  Vee. 

"  Honest,  would  you?  "  says  I,  lookin'  her 
square  in  the  eye. 

"  If  I  didn't  like  her  disposition,  I  would," 
says  she. 

"  But  that's  the  best  part  of  her  to  me,"  says 
I.  "  Adds  variety,  you  know,  and — well,  I  ex 
pect  it's  about  the  only  way  I'm  like  her.  Mine 
is  apt  to  be  that  way  too." 

"  Why,  of  course,"  comes  in  Mabel.  "  If 
she  was  as  pretty  as  all  that,  and  angelic 
too " 

"  You  got  the  idea,"  says  I.  "  She'd  be  in  a 
stained  glass  window  somewhere,  eh?  ' 

11  You're  a  silly  boy!  "  says  Vee. 

"  That  sounds  natural,"  says  I.  ''I  often 
get  that  from  her. ' ' 

"  And  is  she  living  up  here?  "  asks  Mabel. 

"  Visiting,"  says  I.    "  She's  with  her " 

"  William,"  breaks  in  Vee,  "  I  think  Mr. 
Hollister  wants  you." 

I'd  most  forgot  about  Payne;  for,  while  he's 
only  a  few  feet  off,  he's  as  much  out  of  the 
group  as  if  he  was  ashore.  You  know  how  it 


230  ON  WITH  TOKCHY 

is  in  one  of  them  high-powered  launches  with 
the  engine  runnin'.  You  can't  hear  a  word 
unless  you're  right  close  to.  And  Payne's 
twistin'  around  restless. 

"  Yes,  Sir?  "  says  I,  goin'  up  and  reportin'. 

"  Ask  Miss  Verona  if  she  doesn't  want  to 
come  up  here,"  says  he.  "  I — I  think  it  will 
trim  the  boat  better." 

"  Sure,"  says  I.  But  when  I  passes  the  word 
to  Vee  I  translates.  "  Mr.  Hollister's  lone 
some,"  says  I,  "  and  there's  room  for  an 
other.  ' ' 

"  I've  been  wondering  if  I  couldn't,"  says 
Vee. 

"  You  can,"  says  I.  "  Lemme  help  you 
over." 

Gives  me  a  chance  for  a  little  hand  squeeze 
and  another  close  glimpse  into  them  gray  eyes. 
I  don't  make  out  anything  definite,  though. 
But  as  she  passes  forward  she  puckers  her  lips 
saucy  and  whispers,  "  Pepper!  "  in  my  ear.  I 
guess,  after  all,  when  you're  doin'  confidential 
description  you  don't  want  to  stick  too  close  to 
facts.  Makin'  it  all  stained  glass  window  stuff 
is  safer. 

I  goes  back  to  Mabel  and  lets  her  demand 
more  details.  She's  just  full  of  romance,  Mabel 
is;  not  so  full,  though,  that  it  interferes  with 
her  absorbin'  a  few  eats  now  and  then.  Be 
tween  answerin'  questions  I'm  kept  busy 


AUNTY  FLAGS  A  KOSY  ONE       231 

liandin'  out  crackers,  oranges,  and  doughnuts, 
openin'  the  olive  bottle,  and  gettin'  her  drinks 
of  water.  Reg'lar  Consumers'  League,  Mabel. 
I  never  run  a  sausage  stuffin'  machine;  but  I 
think  I  could  now. 

"  You're  such  a  handy  young  man  to  have 
around,"  says  Mabel,  after  I've  split  a  Boston 
cracker  and  lined  it  with  strawb'ry  jam  for  her; 
"  so  much  better  than  Tucker." 

11  That's  my  aim,"  says  I,  "  to  make  you  for 
get  Tucker." 

Yes,  I  was  gettin'  some  popular  with  Mabel, 
even  if  I  was  in  wrong  with  Vee.  They  seems 
to  be  havin'  quite  a  chatty  time  of  it,  Payne 
showin'  her  how  to  steer,  and  lettin'  her  salute 
passin'  launches,  and  explainin'  how  the  en 
gine  worked.  As  far  as  them  two  went,  Mabel 
and  me  was  only  so  much  excess  baggage. 

"  Why,  we're  clear  out  beyond  Squirrel!  >; 
exclaims  Mabel  at  last.  "  Ask  Payne  where 
we're  going  to  stop  for  our  picnic.  I'm  getting 
hungry. ' ' 

11  Oh,  yes,"  says  Payne,  "  we  must  be  think 
ing  about  landing.  I  had  planned  to  run  out  to 
Damariscove ;  but  that  looks  like  a  fog  bank 
hanging  off  there.  Perhaps  we'd  better  go  back 
to  Fisherman's  Island,  after  all.  Tell  her  Fish 
erman's." 

I  couldn't  see  what  the  fog  bank  had  to  do 
with  it — not  then,  anyway.  Why,  it  was  a  peach. 


232  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

of  a  day, — all  blue  sky,  not  a  sign  of  a  cloud 
anywhere,  and  looked  like  it  would  stay  that 
way  for  a  week.  He  keeps  the  Vixen  headed 
out  to  sea  for  awhile  longer,  and  then  all  of  a 
sudden  he  circles  short  and  starts  back. 

"Fog!  '  he  shouts  over  his  shoulder  to 
Mabel. 

"  Oh,  bother!  "  says  Mabel.  "  I  hate  fog. 
And  it  is  coming  in  too." 

Yes,  that  bank  did  seem  to  be  workin'  its  way 
toward  us,  like  a  big,  gray  curtain  that's  bein' 
shoved  from  the  back  drop  to  the  front  of  the 
stage.  You  couldn't  see  it  move,  though;  but 
as  I  watched  blamed  if  it  don't  creep  up  on  an 
island,  a  mile  or  so  out,  and  swallow  it  complete, 
same  as  a  picture  fades  off  a  movie  screen 
when  the  lights  go  wrong.  Just  like  that.  Then 
a  few  wisps  of  thin  mist  floats  by,  makin'  things 
a  bit  hazy  ahead.  Squirrel  Island,  off  to  the 
left,  disappears  like  it  had  gone  to  the  bot 
tom.  The  mainland  shore  grows  vague  and 
blurred,  and  the  first  thing  we  know  we  ain't 
anywhere  at  all,  the  scenery's  all  smudged  out, 
and  nothin'  in  sight  but  this  pearl-gray  mist. 
It  ain't  very  thick,  you  know,  and  only  a  little 
damp.  Rummy  article,  this  State  of  Maine  fog! 

Young  Hollister  is  standin'  up  now,  tryin'  to 
keep  his  bearin's  and  doin'  his  best  to  look 
through  the  haze.  He  slows  the  engine  down 
until  we're  only  just  chuggin'  along. 


AUNTY  FLAGS  A  ROSY  ONE      233 

11  Let's  see,"  says  he,  "  wasn't  Squirrel  off 
there  a  moment  ago?  " 

"  Why,  no,"  says  Vee.  "  I  thought  it  was 
more  to  the  left." 

* '  By  Jove !  ' '  says  he.  *  *  And  there  are  rocks 
somewhere  around  here  too!  ': 

Funny  how  quick  you  can  get  turned  around 
that  way.  Inside  of  three  minutes  I  couldn't 
have  told  where  we  were  at,  any  more'n  if 
I'd  been  blindfolded  in  a  cellar.  And  I  guess 
young  Hollister  got  to  that  condition  soon 
after. 

"  We  ought  to  be  making  the  south  end  of 
Fisherman's  soon,"  he  observes. 

But  we  didn't.  He  has  me  climb  out  on  the 
bow  to  sing  out  if  I  see  anything.  But,  say, 
there  was  less  to  see  than  any  spot  I  was  ever 
in.  I  watched  and  watched,  and  Payne  kept  on 
gettin'  nervous.  And  still  we  keeps  chuggin' 
and  chuggin',  steerin'  first  one  way  and  then 
the  other.  It  seemed  hours  we'd  been  gropin' 
around  that  way  when 

11  Eocks  ahead!  "  I  sings  out  as  something 
dark  looms  up.  Payne  turns  her  quick;  but 
before  she  can  swing  clear  bang  goes  the  bow 
against  something  solid  and  slides  up  with  a 
gratin'  sound.  He  tries  backin'  off;  but  she 
don't  budge. 

"  Hang  it  all!  "  says  Payne,  shuttin'  off  the 
engine.  "  I  guess  we're  stuck." 


234  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

"  Then  why  not  have  the  picnic  right  here?  " 
pipes  up  Mabel. 

"  Here!  "  snaps  Payne.  "  But  I  don't  know 
where  we  are." 

"  Oh,  what's  the  difference?  "  says  Mabel. 
"  Besides,  I'm  hungry." 

"  I  want  to  get  out  of  this,  though,"  says 
Payne.  "  I  mean  to  keep  going  until  I  know 
where  I  am." 

"  Oh,  fudge!  "  says  Mabel.  "  This  is  good 
enough.  And  if  we  stay  here  and  have  a  nice 
luncheon  perhaps  the  fog  will  go  away.  What's 
the  sense  in  drifting  around  when  you're  hun 
gry?  " 

That  didn't  seem  such  bad  dope,  either.  Vee 
sides  with  Mabel,  and  while  Payne  don't  like 
the  idea  he  gives  in.  We  seem  to  have  landed 
somewhere.  So  we  carts  the  baskets  and  things 
ashore,  finds  a  flat  place  up  on  the  rocks,  and 
then  the  three  of  us  tackles  the  job  of  hoistin' 
Mabel  onto  dry  land.  And  it  was  some  enter 
prise,  believe  me! 

"  Goodness!  "  pants  Mabel,  after  we'd  got 
her  planted  safe.  "  I  don't  know  how  I'm  ever 
going  to  get  back." 

We  didn't,  either;  but  after  we'd  spread  out 
five  kinds  of  sandwiches  within  her  reach, 
poured  hot  coffee  out  of  the  patent  bottles, 
opened  the  sardines  and  pickles,  set  out  the 
cake  and  doughnuts,  Mabel  ceases  to  worry. 


AUNTY  FLAGS  A  ROSY  ONE      235 

Payne  don't,  though.  He  swallows  one  sand 
wich,  and  then  goes  back  to  inspect  the  boat. 
He  announces  that  the  tide  is  cornin'  in  and  she 
ought  to  float  soon;  also  that  when  she  does 
he  wants  to  start  back. 

1 '  Now,  Payne !  '  protests  Mabel.  ' '  Just 
when  I'm  comfortable!  " 

11  And  there  isn't  any  hurry,  is  there!  "  asks 
Vee. 

I  wa'n't  so  stuck  on  buttin'  around  in  the  fog 
myself;  so  when  he  asks  me  to  go  down  and  see 
if  the  launch  is  afloat  yet,  and  I  finds  that  she 
can  be  pushed  off  easy,  I  don't  hurry  about 
tellin'  him  so.  Instead  I  climbs  aboard  and  de 
velops  an  idea.  You  see,  when  I  was  out  with 
Eb  Westcott  in  his  lobster  boat  the  day  before 
I'd  noticed  him  stop  the  engine  just  by  jerkin' 
a  little  wire  off  the  spark  plug.  Here  was  a 
whole  bunch  of  wires,  though.  Wouldn't  do  to 
unhitch  'em  all.  But  along  the  inside  of  the 
boat  is  a  little  box  affair  that  they  all  lead  into, 
with  one  big  wire  leadin'  out.  Looked  kind  of 
businesslike,  that  one  did.  I  unhitches  it 
gentle  and  drapes  it  over  a  nearby  screwhead. 
Then  I  strolls  back  and  reports  that  she's 
afloat. 

"  Good!  "  says  Payne.  "  I'll  just  start  the 
engine  and  be  tuning  her  up  while  the  girls 
finish  luncheon." 

Well,  maybe  you  can  guess.    I  could  hear  him 


236  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

windin'  away  at  the  crankin'  wheel,  windin'  and 
windin',  and  then  stoppin'  to  cuss  a  little  under 
his  breath. 

11  What's  the  matter?  "  sings  out  Mabel. 
She  was  one  of  the  kind  that's  strong  on  foolish 
questions. 

"  How  the  blazes  should  I  know?  "  raps  back 
young  Hollister.  "  I  can't  start  the  blasted 
thing." 

"  Never  mind,"  says  Mabel  cheerful.  "  We 
haven't  finished  the  sandwiches  yet." 

Next  time  I  takes  a  peek  Payne  has  his  tool 
kit  spread  out  and  is  busy  takin'  things  apart. 
He's  getting'  himself  all  smeared  up  with 
grease  and  oil  too.  Pity;  for  he'd  started  out 
lookin'  so  neat  and  nifty.  Meanwhile  we'd  fed 
Mabel  to  the  limit,  got  her  propped  up  with 
cushions,  and  she's  noddin'  contented. 

"  Guess  I'll  do  some  explorin',"  says  I. 

"  But  I've  been  wanting  to  do  that  this  half- 
hour,"  says  Vee. 

11  Well,  let's  then,"  says  I. 

"  Go  on,"  says  Mabel,  "  and  tell  me  about  it 
afterward." 

Oh,  yes,  we  explores.  Say,  I'm  a  bear  for 
that  too!  You  have  to  go  hand  in  hand  over 
the  rocks,  to  keep  from  slippin'.  And  the  fog 
makes  it  all  the  nicer.  We  didn't  go  far  before 
we  came  to  the  edge.  Then  we  cross  in  another 
direction,  and  comes  to  more  edge. 


THEN  MY  ARM  MUST  HAVE  SLIPPED — AND 
THE  SIDE  CLINCH  WA'N'T  DISTURBED. 


AUNTY  FLAGS  A  ROSY  ONE      237 

*  *  Why,  we  're  on  a  little  island !  ' '  says  Vee. 

"  Big  enough  for  us,"  says  I.  "  Here's  a 
good  place  to  sit  down  too."  We  settles  our 
selves  in  a  snug  little  corner  that  gives  us  a 
fine  view  of  the  fog. 

"  How  silly  of  you  to  come  away  up  here," 
says  Vee,  "  just  because — well,  just  be 
cause." 

"  It's  the  only  wise  move  I  was  ever  guilty 
of, ' '  says  I.  *  *  I  feel  like  I  had  Solomon  in  the 
grammar  grade." 

"  But  how  did  you  happen  to  get  here — with 
Payne?  "  says  she. 

* '  Hypnotized  him, ' '  says  I.  *  *  That  part  was 
a  cinch." 

11  And  until  to-day  you  didn't  know  where  we 
were,  or  anything,"  says  she. 

"  I  scouted  around  a  bit  yesterday  after 
noon,"  says  I.  "  Saw  you  too." 

' '  Yesterday !  ' '  says  she.  '  *  Why,  no  one 
came  near  all  the  afternoon;  that  is,  only  a 
couple  of  lobstermen  in  a  horrid,  smelly  old 
boat." 

"  Uh-huh,"  says  I.  "  One  was  me,  in  dis 
guise." 

"  Torchy!  "  says  she,  gaspin'.  And  some 
how  she  snuggles  up  a  little  closer  after  that. 
"  I  didn't  think  when  I  wrote,"  she  goes  on, 
"  that  you  would  be  so  absurd." 

"  Maybe  I  was,"  says  I.     "  But  I  took  it 


238  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

straight,  that  part  about  it  bein'  stupid  up  here. 

I  was  figurin'  on  liftin'  the  gloom.    I  hadn't 
counted  on  Payne." 

"  Well,  what  then?  "  says  she,  tossin'  her 
chin  up. 

"  Nothin',"  says  I.  "  Guess  you  were  right, 
too." 

"  He  only  came  the  other  day,"  says  Vee; 

II  but  he's  nice." 

"  Aunty  thinks  so  too,  don't  she?  "  says  I. 

"  Why,  yes,"  admits  Vee. 

11  Another  chosen  one,  is  he?  "  says  I. 

Vee  flushes.  "  I  don't  care!  "  says  she. 
"  He  is  rather  nice." 

"  Correct,"  says  I.  "I  found  him  that  way 
too;  but  ain't  he — well,  just  a  little  stiff  in  the 
neck?  " 

That  brings  out  a  giggle.  ' '  Poor  Payne !  '  > 
says  Vee.  "  He  is  something  of  a  stick,  you 
know. ' ' 

"  We'll  forgive  him  for  that,"  says  I. 
"  We'll  forgive  Mabel.  We'll  forgive  the  fog. 
Eh?  '  Then  my  arm  must  have  slipped. 

* *  Why,  Torchy !  ' '  says  she. 

11  Oh!  "  says  I.  "  Thought  you  were  too 
near  the  edge."  And  the  side  clinch  wa'n't 
disturbed. 

Some  chat  too !  I  don't  know  when  we've  had 
a  chance  for  any  such  a  good  long  talk  as  that, 
and  we  both  seemed  to  have  a  lot  of  conversa- 


AUNTY  FLAGS  A  ROSY  ONE      239 

tion  stored  up.  Then  we  chucked  pebbles  into 
the  water,  and  Vee  pulls  some  seaweed  and  dec 
orates  my  round  hat.  You  know?  It's  easy 
killin'  time  when  you're  paired  off  right.  And 
the  first  thing  we  knows  the  fog  begins  to  lighten 
and  the  sun  almost  breaks  through.  We  hurries 
back  to  where  Mabel's  just  rousin'  from  a 
doze. 

"  Well!  "  says  she. 

"  It's  a  tiny  little  island  we're  on,"  says  Vee. 

"  Nice  little  island,  though,"  says  I. 

"  Hey!  "  sings  out  Payne,  pokin'  his  head 
up  over  the  rocks.  "  I've  been  calling  and  call 
ing." 

"  We've  been  explorin',"  says  I.  "  Got  her 
fixed  yet?" 

"  Hang  it,  no !  "  growls  Payne,  scrubbin'  cot 
ton  waste  over  his  forehead.  "  And  the  fog's 
beginning  to  lift.  Why,  there's  the  shore,  and 
— and — well,  what  do  you  think  of  that  ?  We  're 
on  Grampus  Ledges,  not  a  mile  from  home !  ' : 

Sure  enough,  there  was  Roarin'  Rocks  just 
showin'  up. 

"  Now  if  I  could  only  start  this  confounded 
engine!  "  says  he,  starin'  down  at  it  puzzled. 

By  this  time  Vee  and  Mabel  appears,  and 
of  course  Mabel  wants  to  know  what's  the 
matter. 

"I'm  sure  I  can't  tell,"  says  Payne,  sighin* 
hopeless. 


240  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

"  Wirin'  all  right,  is  it?  "  says  I,  climbin'  in 
and  lookin'  scientific.  And — would  you  believe 
it  ? — I  only  paws  around  a  minute  or  so  before  I 
finds  a  loose  magneto  connection,  hooks  it  up 
proper,  and  remarks  casual,  ''Now  let's  try 
her." 

Pur-r-r-r-r !  Off  she  goes.  * '  There !  "  ex 
claims  Mabel.  ' '  I  shall  never  go  out  again  un 
less  William  is  along.  He's  so  handy!  " 

Say,  she  stuck  to  it.  Four  days  I  was  chief 
engineer  of  the  Vixen — and,  take  it  from  me, 
they  was  perfectly  good  days.  No  more  fog. 
No  rain.  Just  shoolin'  around  in  fair  weather, 
makin'  excursions  here  and  there,  with  Vee 
trippin'  down  to  the  dock  every  day  in  a  fresher 
and  newer  yachtin'  costume,  and  lookin'  pinker 
and  sweeter  every  trip. 

Course,  as  regards  a  certain  other  party,  it 
was  a  case  of  artistic  dodgin'  for  me  between 
times.  You  got  to  admit,  though,  that  it  wa'n't 
a  fair  test  for  Aunty.  I  had  her  off  her  guard. 
Might  have  been  diff'rent  too,  if  she'd  cared 
for  motorboatin'.  So  maybe  I  got  careless.  I 
remember  once  passin'  Aunty  right  in  the  path 
as  I'm  luggin'  some  things  up  to  the  house,  and 
all  I  does  is  to  hoist  the  basket  up  on  my 
shoulder  between  me  and  her  and  push  right 
along. 

Then  here  the  last  mornin',  just  as  we  got 
tinder  way  for  a  run  to  Damariscotta,  she  and 


AUNTY  FLAGS  A  ROSY  ONE      241 

Mrs.  Hollister  was  up  on  the  cliff  seein'  us  off. 
All  the  rest  was  wavin';  so  just  for  sport  I 
takes  off  my  hat  and  waves  too,  grinnin'  humor 
ous  at  Vee  as  I  makes  the  play.  But,  say,  next 
time  I  looks  back  she's  up  on  the  veranda  with 
the  fieldglasses  trained  on  us.  I  keeps  my  hat 
on  after  that.  My  kind  of  red  hair  is  prominent 
enough  to  the  naked  eye  at  almost  any  distance 
— but  with  fieldglasses !  Good  night ! 

It  was  a  day  for  forgettin'  things,  though. 
Ever  sailed  up  the  Scotty  River  on  a  perfect 
August  day,  with  the  sun  on  the  green  hills,  a 
sea  breeze  tryin'  to  follow  the  tide  in,  and  the 
white  gulls  swingin'  lazy  overhead?  It's  worth 
doin'.  Then  back  again,  roundin'  Ocean  Point 
about  sunset,  with  the  White  Islands  all  tinted 
up  pink  off  there,  and  the  old  Atlantic  as  smooth 
as  a  skatin'  rink  as  far  out  as  you  can  see,  and 
streaked  with  more  colors  than  a  crazy  cubist 
can  sling, — some  peaceful  picture. 

But  what  a  jar  to  find  Aunty,  grim  and  for- 
biddin',  waitin'  on  the  dock.  She  never  says 
a  word  until  we'd  landed  and  everyone  but 
me  had  started  for  the  house.  Then  I  got 
mine. 

"  Boy,"  says  she  icy,  "  take  off  that  hat!  " 

I  does  it  reluctant. 

' '  Humph !  ' '  says  she.  ' '  William !  I  thought 
so."  That's  all;  but  she  says  it  mighty  ex 
pressive. 


242  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

The  programme  for  the  followin'  day  in 
cluded  a  ten  o'clock  start,  and  I'd  been  down 
to  the  boat  ever  since  breakfast,  tidyin'  things 
up  and  sort  of  wonderin'.  About  nine-fifteen, 
though,  young  Hollister  comes  wanderin'  down 
by  his  lonesome. 

11  It's  all  off,"  says  he.  "  Miss  Verona  and 
her  aunt  have  gone." 

"  Eh?  "  says  I,  gawpin'.     "  Gone?  " 

"  Early  this  morning,"  says  he.  "I  don't 
quite  understand  why;  something  about  Vero 
na's  being  out  on  the  water  so  much,  I 
believe.  Gone  to  the  mountains.  And — er — by 
the  way,  Tucker  is  around  again.  Here  he 
comes  now." 

"  He  gets  the  jumper,  then,"  says  I,  peelin' 
it  off.  "  I  guess  I'm  due  back  on  Broadway." 

"  It's  mighty  good  of  you  to  help  out,"  says 
Payne,  "  and  I — I  want  to  do  the  right  thing 
in  the  way  of " 

"  You  have,"  says  I.  "  You've  helped  me 
have  the  time  of  my  life.  Put  up  the  kale,  Hol 
lister.  If  you'll  land  me  at  the  Harbor,  I'll  call 
it  square." 

He  don't  want  to  let  it  stand  that  way;  but 
I  insists.  As  I  climbs  out  on  the  Yacht  Club 
float,  where  he'd  picked  me  up,  he  puts  out  his 
hand  friendly. 

"  And,  say,"  says  I,  "  how  about  Miss 
Vee?  " 


AUNTY  FLAGS  A  ROSY  ONE      243 

"  Why,"  says  he,  "I'm  very  sorry  she 
couldn't  stay  longer." 

"  Me  too,"  says  I.    "  Some  girl,  eh?  " 

Payne  nods  hearty,  and  we  swaps  a  final  grip. 

Well,  it  was  great !  My  one  miscue  was  not 
wearin'  a  wig. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

CUTTING   IN    ON    THE   BLISS 

WE  thought  it  was  all  over  too.  That's  the 
way  it  is  in  plays  and  books,  where  they  don't 
gen 'rally  take  'em  beyond  the  final  clinch,  leav- 
in'  you  to  fill  in  the  bliss  ad  lib.  But  here  we'd 
seen  'em  clear  through  the  let-no-man-put- 
asunder  stage,  even  watched  'em  dodge  the  rice 
and  confetti  in  their  dash  to  the  limousine. 

"  Thank  goodness  that's  through  with!  "  re 
marks  Mother,  without  makin'  any  bones  of  it. 

Course,  her  reg'lar  cue  was  to  fall  on  Fa 
ther's  neck  and  weep;  but,  then,  I  expect  Mrs. 
Cheyne  Ballard's  one  of  the  kind  you  can't  write 
any  form  sheet  for.  She's  a  lively,  bunchy 
little  party,  all  jump  and  go  and  jingle,  who 
looks  like  she  might  have  been  married  herself 
only  day  before  yesterday. 

"I  hope  Robbie  knows  where  she  put  those 
trunk  checks,"  says  Father,  at  the  same  time 
sighin'  sort  of  relieved. 

From  where  I  stood,  though,  the  guy  who  was 
pushin'  overboard  the  biggest  chunk  of  worry 
was  this  I- wilt  boy,  Mr.  Nicholas  Talbot.  He'd 

244 


CUTTING  IN  ON  THE  BLISS       245 

got  her  at  last!  But,  z-z-z-zingo!  it  had  been 
some  lively  gettin'.  Not  that  I  was  all  through 
the  campaign  with  him;  but  I'd  had  glimpses 
here  and  there. 

You  see,  Bobbie's  almost  one  of  the  fam'ly; 
for  Mr.  Bobert's  an  old  friend  of  the  Ballards, 
and  was  bottle  holder  or  something  at  the  chris- 
tenin'.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  she  was  named 
Boberta  after  him.  Then  he'd  watched  her 
grow  up,  and  always  remembered  her  birthdays, 
and  kept  her  latest  picture  on  his  desk.  So  why 
shouldn't  he  figure  more  or  less  when  so  many 
others  was  tryin'  to  straighten  out  her  love 
affairs?  They  was  some  tangled  there  for 
awhile  too. 

Bobbie's  one  of  the  kind,  you  know,  that 
would  have  Cupid  cross-eyed  in  one  season.  A 
queen?  Well,  take  it  from  me!  Say,  the  way 
her  cheeks  was  tinted  up  natural  would  have  a 
gold  medal  rose  lookin'  like  it  come  off  a 
twenty-nine-cent  roll  of  wall  paper.  Then  them 
pansy-colored  eyes !  Yes,  Miss  Boberta  Ballard 
was  more  or  less  ornamental.  That  wa'n't  all, 
of  course.  She  could  say  more  cute  things,  and 
cut  loose  with  more  unexpected  pranks,  than  a 
roomful  of  Billie  Burkes.  As  cunnin'  as  a  kit 
ten,  she  was. 

No  wonder  Nick  Talbot  fell  for  her  the  first 
time  he  was  exposed !  Course,  he  was  half  en 
gaged  to  that  stunnin'  Miss  Marian  Marlowe  at 


246  ON  WITH  TOBCHY 

the  time;  but  wa'n't  Bobbie  waverin'  between 
three  young  chaps  that  all  seemed  to  be  in  the 
runnin '  before  Nick  showed  up  ? 

Anyway,  Miss  Marlowe  should  have  known 
better  than  to  lug  in  her  steady  when  she  was 
visitin'.  She'd  been  chummy  with  Bobbie  at 
boardin'  school,  and  should  have  known  how 
dangerous  she  was.  But  young  Mr.  Talbot  had 
only  two  looks  before  he's  as  strong  for  Bobbie 
as  though  it  had  been  comin'  on  for  years  back. 
Impetuous  young  gent  that  way  he  was  too; 
and,  bein'  handicapped  by  no  job,  and  long  on 
time  and  money,  he  does  some  spirited  rushin'. 

Seems  Bobbie  Ballard  didn't  mind.  Excite 
ment  was  her  middle  name,  novelty  was  her 
strong  suit,  and  among  Nick's  other  attractions 
he  was  brand  new.  Besides,  wa'n't  he  a  swell 
one-stepper,  a  shark  at  tennis,  and  couldn't  he 
sing  any  ragtime  song  that  she  could  drum 
out?  The  ninety-horse  striped  racin'  car  that 
he  came  callin'  in  helped  along  some;  for  one 
of  Bobbie's  fads  was  for  travelin'  fast.  Course, 
she'd  been  brought  up  in  limousines;  but  the 
mile  in  fifty  seconds  gave  her  a  genuine  thrill. 

When  it  come  to  holdin'  out  her  finger  for  the 
big  solitaire  that  Nick  flashed  on  her  about  the 
third  week,  though,  she  hung  back.  The  others 
carried  about  the  same  line  of  jew'lry  around 
in  their  vest  pockets,  waitin'  for  a  chance  to 
decorate  her  third  finger.  One  had  the  loveliest 


CUTTING  IN  ON  THE  BLISS       247 

gray  eyes  too.  Then  there  was  another  entry, 
with  the  dearest  little  mustache,  who  was  a  bear 
at  doin'  the  fish-walk  tango  with  her;  not  to 
mention  the  young  civil  engineer  she'd  met  last 
winter  at  Palm  Beach.  But  he  didn't  actually 
count,  not  bein'  on  the  scene. 

Anyway,  three  was  enough  to  keep  guessin' 
at  once.  Robbie  was  real  modest  that  way.  But 
she  sure  did  have  'em  all  busy.  If  it  was  a  sixty- 
mile  drive  with  Nick  before  luncheon,  it  was  apt 
to  be  an  afternoon  romp  in  the  surf  with  the 
gray-eyed  one,  and  a  toss  up  as  to  which  of  the 
trio  took  her  to  the  Casino  dance  in  the  evenin'. 
Mother  used  to  laugh  over  it  all  with  Mr. 
Robert,  who  remarked  that  those  kids  were 
absurd.  Nobody  seemed  to  take  it  serious;  for 
Robbie  was  only  a  few  months  over  nineteen. 

But  young  Mr.  Talbot  had  it  bad.  Besides, 
he'd  always  got  about  what  he  wanted  before, 
and  this  time  he  was  in  dead  earnest.  So  the 
first  thing  Mother  and  Father  knew  they  were 
bein'  interviewed.  Robbie  had  half  said  she 
might  if  there  was  no  kick  from  her  dear  par 
ents,  and  he  wanted  to  know  how  about  it. 
Mr.  Cheyne  Ballard  supplied  the  information 
prompt.  He  called  Nick  an  impudent  young 
puppy,  at  which  Mother  wept  and  took  the 
young  gent's  part.  Robbie  blew  in  just  then 
and  giggled  through  the  rest  of  the  act,  until 
Father  quit  disgusted  and  put  it  square  up  to 


248  ON  WITH  TOECHY 

her.  Then  she  pouted  and  locked  herself  in  her 
room.  That's  when  Mr.  Robert  was  sent  for; 
but  she  wouldn't  give  him  any  decision,  either. 

So  for  a  week  there  things  was  in  a  mess,  with 
Robbie  balkin',  Mother  havin'  a  case  of  nerves, 
Father  nursin'  a  grouch,  and  Nick  Talbot 
mopin'  around  doleful.  Then  some  girl  friend 
suggested  to  Robbie  that  if  she  did  take  Nick 
they  could  have  a  moonlight  lawn  weddin',  with 
the  flower  gardens  all  lit  up  by  electric  bulbs, 
which  would  be  too  dear  for  anything.  Robbie 
perked  up  and  asked  for  details.  Inside  of  an 
hour  she  was  plannin'  what  she  would  wear. 
Late  in  the  afternoon  Nick  heard  the  glad  news 
himself,  through  a  third  party. 

First  off  the  date  was  set  for  early  next  spring, 
when  she'd  be  twenty.  That  was  Father's 
dope;  although  Mother  was  willin'  it  should 
be  pulled  off  around  Christmas  time.  Nick,  he 
stuck  out  for  the  first  of  October;  but  Robbie 
says: 

"  Oh,  pshaw!  There  won't  be  any  flowers 
then,  and  we'll  be  back  in  town.  Why  not  week 
after  next?  " 

So  that's  the  compromise  fin'lly  agreed  on. 
The  moonlight  stunt  had  to  be  scratched;  but 
the  outdoor  part  was  stuck  to — and  believe  me 
it  was  some  classy  hitchin'  bee! 

They'd  been  gone  about  two  weeks,  I  guess, 
with  everybody  contented  except  maybe  the 


CUTTING  IN  ON  THE  BLISS       249 

three  losers,  and  all  hands  countin'  the  incident 
closed;  when  one  forenoon  Mother  shows  up  at 
the  gen'ral  offices,  has  a  long  talk  with  Mr, 
Eobert,  and  goes  away  moppin'  her  eyes.  Then 
there's  a  call  for  Mr.  Cheyne  Ballard's  down 
town  number,  and  Mr.  Robert  has  a  confab  with 
him  over  the  'phone.  Next  comes  three  lively 
rings  for  me  on  the  buzzer,  and  I  chases  into  the 
private  office.  Mr.  Robert  is  sittin'  scowlin', 
makin'  savage  jabs  with  a  paper  knife  at  the 
blotter  pad. 

"  Torchy,"  says  he,  "I  find  myself  in  a 
deucedly  awkward  fix. ' ' 

"  Another  lobbyist  been  squealin?  "  says  I. 

11  No,  no!  "  says  he.  "  This  is  a  personal 
affair,  and — well,  it's  embarrassing,  to  say  the 
least." 

"  Another  lobbyist  been  squealin'?  "  says  L 

"  It's  about  Roberta,"  says  he. 

"  What— again?  "  says  I.  "  But  I  thought 
they  was  travelin'  abroad?  ' 

"  I  wish  they  were,"  says  he;  "  but  they're 
not.  At  the  last  moment,  it  seems,  Robbie  de 
cided  she  didn't  care  for  a  foreign  trip, — too 
late  in  the  season,  and  she  didn't  want  to  be 
going  over  just  when  everyone  was  coming 
back,  you  know.  So  they  went  up  to  Thunder- 
caps  instead." 

"  Sounds  stormy,"  says  I. 

"  You're  quite  right,"  says  he.     "  But  it's 


250  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

a  little  gem  of  a  place  that  young  Talbot's 
father  built  up  in  the  Adirondacks.  I  was  there 
once.  It's  right  on  top  of  a  mountain.  And 
that 's  where  they  are  now,  miles  from  anywhere 
or  anybody." 

"  And  spoony  as  two  mush  ladles,  I  expect," 
says  I. 

"  Humph!  "  says  he,  tossin'  the  brass  paper 
knife  reckless  onto  the  polished  mahogany  desk 
top.  ' '  They  ought  to  be,  I  will  admit ;  but — oh, 
hang  it  all,  if  you're  to  be  of  any  use  in  this 
beastly  affair,  I  suppose  you  must  be  told  the 
humiliating,  ugly  truth!  They  are  not  spoon 
ing.  Eobbie  is  very  unhappy.  She — she's 
being  abused." 

11  Well,  what  do  you  know!  "  says  I.  "  You 
don't  mean  he's  begun  draggin'  her  around  by 
the  hair,  or " 

11  Don't!  "  says  Mr.  Robert,  bun  chin'  his  fists 
nervous.  "  I  can't  tell.  Robbie  hasn't  gone 
into  that.  But  she  has  written  her  mother  that 
she  is  utterly  wretched,  and  that  this  precious 
Nick  Talbot  of  hers  is  unbearable.  The  young 
whelp !  If  I  could  only  get  my  hands  on  him 
for  five  minutes!  But,  blast  it  all!  that's  just 
what  I  mustn  't  do  until — until  I  'm  sure.  I  can 't 
trust  myself  to  go.  That  is  why  I  must  send 
you,  young  man. ' ' 

"  EM  "  says  I,  starin'.  "  Me?  Ah,  say, 
Mr.  Robert,  I  wouldn't  stand  any  show  at  all 


CUTTING  IN  ON  THE  BLISS       251 

mixin'  it  with  a  young  husk  like  him.  Why, 
after  the  first  poke  I'd  be " 

11  You  misunderstand,"  says  he.  "  That 
poke  part  I  can  attend  to  very  well  myself.  But 
I  want  to  know  the  worst  before  I  start  in,  and 
if  I  should  go  up  there  now,  feeling  as  I  do,  I — 
well,  I  might  not  be  a  very  patient  investigator. 
You  see,  don't  you?  " 

"  Might  blow  a  gasket,  eh?  "  says  I.  "  And 
you  want  me  to  go  up  and  scout  around.  But 
what  if  I'm  caught  at  it — am  I  peddlin'  soap, 
or  what?  " 

"  A  plausible  errand  is  just  what  I've  been 
trying  to  invent, ' '  says  he.  * '  Can  you  suggest 
anything?  " 

"  Why,"  says  I,  "  I  might  go  disguised  as  a 
lone  bandit  who'd  robbed  a  train  and  was " 

"  Too  theatrical,"  objects  Mr.  Eobert. 

"Or  a  guy  come  to  test  the  gas  meter,"  I 
goes  on. 

"  Nonsense!  "  says  he.  "  No  gas  meters  up 
there.  Forget  the  disguise.  They  both  know 
you,  remember." 

"  Oh,  well,"  says  I,  "  if  I  can't  wear  a  wig, 
then  I  expect  I'll  have  to  go  as  special  messen 
ger  sent  up  with  some  nutty  present  or  other, — 
a  five-pound  box  of  candy,  or  flowers,  or " 

"  That's  it — orchids!  "  breaks  in  Mr.  Eobert. 
* '  Eobbie  expects  a  bunch  from  me  about  every 
so  often.  The  very  thing!  " 


252  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

So  less'n  an  hour  later  I'm  on  my  way,  with 
fifty  dollars'  worth  of  freak  posies  in  a  box,  and 
instructions  to  stick  around  Thundercaps  as 
long  as  I  can,  with  my  eyes  wide  open  and  my 
ears  stretched.  Mr.  Robert  figures  I'll  land 
there  too  late  for  the  night  train  back,  anyway, 
and  after  that  I'm  to  use  my  bean.  If  I  finds 
the  case  desp'rate,  I'm  to  beat  it  for  the  nearest 
telegraph  office  and  wire  in. 

"  Poor  little  girl!  "  is  Mr.  Robert's  closin* 
remark.  "  Poor  little  Robbie!  ' 

Cheerful  sort  of  an  errand,  wa'n't  it,  bein* 
sent  to  butt  in  on  a  Reno  curtain  raiser?  Easy 
enough  workin'  up  sympathy  for  the  abused 
bride.  Why,  she  wa'n't  much  more'n  a  kid,  and 
one  who'd  been  coddled  and  petted  all  her  life, 
at  that !  And  here  she  ups  and  marries  offhand 
this  two-fisted  young  hick  who  turns  out  to  be 
bad  inside.  You  wouldn't  have  guessed  it, 
either;  for,  barrin'  a  kind  of  heavy  jaw  and 
deep-set  eyes,  he  had  all  the  points  of  a  per 
fectly  nice  young  gent.  Good  fam'ly  too.  Mr. 
Robert  knew  two  of  his  brothers  well,  and  durin' 
the  coo  campaign  he'd  rooted  for  Nick.  Then 
he  had  to  show  a  streak  like  this ! 

11  But  wait!  "  thinks  I.  "  If  I  can  get  any 
thing  on  him,  he  sure  will  have  it  handed  to 
him  hot  when  Mr.  Robert  arrives.  I  want  to 
see  it  done  too." 

You  don't  get  to  places  like  Thundercaps  in 


CUTTING  IN  ON  THE  BLISS       253 

a  minute,  though.  It's  the  middle  of  the  after 
noon  before  I  jumps  the  way  train  at  a  little 
mountain  station,  and  then  I  has  to  hunt  up  a 
jay  with  a  buckboard  and  take  a  ten-mile  drive 
over  a  course  like  a  roller  coaster.  They  ought 
to  smooth  that  Adirondack  scenery  down  some. 
Crude  stuff,  I  call  it. 

But,  say,  the  minute  we  got  inside  Thunder- 
caps'  gates  it's  diff'rent — smooth  green  lawns, 
lots  of  flowerbeds,  a  goldfish  pool, — almost  like 
a  chunk  of  Central  Park.  In  the  middle  is  a 
white-sided,  red-tiled  shack,  with  pink  and 
white  awnings,  and  odd  windows,  and  wide,  cozy 
verandas, — just  the  spot  where  you'd  think  a 
perfectly  good  honeymoon  might  be  pulled  off. 

I'm  just  unloadin'  my  bag  and  the  flowerbox 
when  around  a  corner  of  the  cottage  trips  a 
cerise-tinted  vision  in  an  all  lace  dress  and  a 
butterfly  wrap.  Course,  it's  Eobbie.  She's 
heard  the  sound  of  wheels,  and  has  come  a 
runnin '. 

' "  Oh !  "  says  she,  stoppin '  sudden  and  puck- 
erin'  her  baby  mouth  into  a  pout.  "  I  thought 
someone  was  arriving,  you  know."  "Which  was 
a  sad  jolt  to  give  a  rescuer,  wa'n't  it? 

"  Sorry,"  says  I;  "  but  I'm  all  there  is." 

"  You're  the  boy  from  Uncle  Robert's  office 
— Torchy,  isn't  it?  "  says  she. 

"  It  is,"  says  I.  "  Fired  up  with  flowers  and 
Mr.  Robert's  compliments." 


254  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

' '  The  old  dear !  ' '  says  she,  grabbin '  the  box, 
slippin'  off  the  string,  and  divin'  into  the  tissue 
paper.  "  Orchids,  too!  Oh,  goody!  But  they 
don't  go  with  my  coat.  Pooh!  I  don't  need  it, 
anyway."  With  that  she  sheds  the  butterfly 
arrangement,  chuckin'  it  casual  on  the  steps, 
and  jams  the  whole  of  that  fifty  dollars'  worth 
under  her  sash.  "  There,  how  does  that  look, 
Mr.  Torchy?  "  says  she,  takin'  a  few  fancy 
steps  back  and  forth. 

"  All  right,  I  guess,"  says  I. 

11  Stupid!  "  says  she,  stampin'  her  double 
A-l  pump  peevish.  "  Is  that  the  prettiest  you 
can  say  it?  Come,  now — aren't  they  nice  on 
me?  " 

"  Nice  don't  cover  it,"  says  I.  "  I  was  only 
wonderin'  whether  orchids  was  invented  for 
you,  or  you  for  orchids." 

This  brings  out  a  trilly  little  laugh,  like 
jinglin'  a  string  of  silver  bells,  and  she  shows 
both  dimples.  "  That's  better,"  says  she. 
"  Almost  as  good  as  some  of  the  things  Bud 
Chandler  can  say.  Dear  old  Bud!  He's  such 
fun!  " 

"  He  was  the  gray-eyed  one,  wa'n't  he?  ' 
says  I. 

"  Why,  yes,"  says  she.  "  He  was  a  dear. 
So  was  Oggie  Holcomb.  I  wish  Nick  would 
ask  them  both  up." 

"  Eh?  "  says  I.    "  The  also  rans?    Here?  " 


CUTTING  IN  ON  THE  BLISS       255 

"  Pooh!  "says  she.  "Why  not!  It's  fright 
fully  dull,  being  all  alone.  But  Nick  won't  do 
it,  the  old  bear !  " 

Which  reminds  me  that  I  ought  to  be  scoutin* 
for  black  eyes,  or  wrist  bruises,  or  finger  marks 
on  her  neck.  Nothin'  of  the  kind  shows  up, 
though. 

"  Been  kind  of  rough  about  it,  has  he?  " 
says  I. 

"  He's  been  perfectly  awful!  ':  says  she. 
"  Sulking  around  as  though  I'd  done  something 
terrible!  But  I'll  pay  him  up.  Come,  you're 
not  going  back  tonight,  are  you?  ' 

"  Can't,"  says  I.     "No  train." 

"  Then  you  must  play  with  me,"  says  she, 
grabbin'  my  hand  kittenish  and  startin'  to  run 
me  across  the  yard. 

"  But,  see  here,"  says  I,  followin'  her  on  the 
jump.  "  Where's  Hubby?  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  says  she.  "  Off  tramp 
ing  through  the  woods  with  his  dog,  I  suppose. 
He's  sulking,  as  usual.  And  all  because  I  in 
sisted  on  writing  to  Oggie!  Then  there  was 
something  about  the  servants.  I  don't  know, 
only  things  went  wrong  at  breakfast,  and  some 
of  them  have  threatened  to  leave.  Who  cares? 
Yesterday  it  was  about  the  tennis  court.  What 
if  he  did  telegraph  to  have  it  laid  out?  I 
couldn't  play  when  I  found  I  hadn't  brought 
any  tennis  shoes,  could  I?  Besides,  there's  no 


256  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

fun  playing  against  Nick,  he's  such  a  shark. 
He  didn't  like  it,  either,  because  I  wouldn't  use 
the  baby  golf  course.  But  I  will  with  you. 
Come  on." 

11  I  never  did  much  putting,"  says  I. 

"  Nor  I,"  says  she;  "  but  we  can  try." 

Three  or  four  holes  was  enough  for  her, 
though,  and  then  she  has  a  new  idea.  "  You 
rag,  don't  you?  "  says  she. 

"  Only  a  few  tango  steps,"  says  I.  "  My  feet 
stutter." 

"  Then  I'll  show  you  how,"  says  she.  "  We 
have  some  dandy  records,  and  the  veranda's 
just  right." 

So  what  does  she  do  but  tow  me  back  to  the 
house,  ring  up  a  couple  of  maids  to  clear  away 
all  the  rugs  and  chairs,  and  push  the  music 
machine  up  to  the  open  window. 

"  Put  on  that  '  Too  Much  Mustard,'  An 
nette,"  says  she,  "  and  keep  it  going." 

Must  have  surprised  Annette  some,  as  I 
hadn't  been  accounted  for;  but  a  little  thing 
like  that  don't  bother  Robbie.  She  gives  me 
the  proper  grip  for  the  onestep, — which  is 
some  close  clinch,  believe  me! — cuddles  her 
fluffy  head  down  on  my  necktie,  and  off  we 
goes. 

"  No,  don't  try  to  trot,"  says  she.  "  Just 
balance  and  keep  time,  and  swing  two  or  three 
times  at  the  turn.  Keep  your  feet  apart,  you 


\VE  WAS  RIGHT  IN  THE  .MIDST  OF  PKAfTISIN''   THE  SIDKWISH  DIP, 
WHO  SHOULD  SHOW  UP  BUT  THE  HAPPY  BRIDEGROOM  ! 


CUTTING  IN  ON  THE  BLISS       257 

know.  Now  back  me.  Swing!  There,  you're 
getting  it.  Keep  on!  " 

Some  spieler,  Bobbie;  and  whether  or  not 
that  was  just  a  josh  about  orchids  bein'  in 
vented  for  her,  there's  no  doubt  but  what  rag 
time  was.  Yes,  yes,  that's  where  she  lives. 
And  me?  Well,  I  can't  say  I  hated  it.  With 
her  coachin'  me,  and  that  snappy  music  goin', 
I  caught  the  idea  quick  enough,  and  first  I  knew 
we  was  workin'  in  new  variations  that  she'd 
suggest,  doin'  the  slow  toe  pivot,  the  kitchen 
sink,  and  a  lot  more. 

We  stopped  long  enough  to  have  tea  and 
cakes  served,  and  then  Bobbie  insists  on  tryin' 
some  new  stunts.  There 's  a  sidewise  dip,  where 
you  twist  your  partner  around  like  you  was 
tryin'  to  break  her  back  over  a  chair,  and  we 
was  right  in  the  midst  of  practisin'  that  when 
who  should  show  up  but  the  happy  bridegroom. 
And  someway  I've  seen  'em  look  more  pleased. 

"  Oh,  that  you,  old  Grumpy?  "  says  young 
Mrs.  Talbot,  stoppin'  for  a  minute.  "  You  re 
member  Torchy,  from  Uncle  Bobert's  office, 
don't  you?  He  came  up  with  some  orchids. 
We're  having  such  fun  too." 

"  Looks  so,"  says  Nick.    "  Can't  I  cut  in?  " 

' '  Oh,  bother !  ' '  says  Bobbie.  ' '  No,  I  'm  tired 
now. ' ' 

"  Just  one  dance!  "  pleads  Nick. 

"  Oh,     afterward,     perhaps,"     says     she. 


258  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

"There I  Just  look  at  those  silly  orchids! 
Aren't  they  sights?  "  With  that  she  snakes 
'em  out  and  tosses  the  wilted  bunch  careless 
over  the  veranda  rail.  "  And  now,"  she  adds, 
"  I  must  dress  for  dinner." 

"  You've  nearly  two  hours,  Pet,"  protests 
Nick.  * '  Come  to  the  outlook  with  me  and  watch 
the  sunset." 

"  It's  too  lonesome,"  says  Robbie,  and  off 
she  goes. 

It  should  have  happened  then,  if  ever.  I  was 
standin'  by,  waitin'  for  him  to  cut  loose  with 
the  cruel  words,  and  maybe  introduce  a  little 
hair-draggin'  scene.  But  Nick  Talbot  just 
stands  there  gazin'  after  her  kind  of  sad  and 
mushy,  not  even  grindin'  his  teeth.  Next  he 
sighs,  drops  his  chin,  and  slumps  into  a  chair. 
Honest,  that  got  me ;  for  it  was  real  woe  showin' 
on  his  face,  and  he  seems  to  be  strugglin'  with 
it  man  fashion.  Somehow  it  seemed  up  to  me 
to  come  across  with  a  few  soothin'  remarks. 

"  Sorry  I  butted  in,"  says  I;  "  but  Mr. 
Eobert  sent  me  up  with  the  flowers." 

11  Oh,  that's  all  right,"  says  he.  "Glad  you 
came.  I — I  suppose  she  needed  someone  else 
to— to  talk  to." 

"  But  you  wouldn't  stand  for  invitin'  the 
leftovers  on  your  honeymoon,  eh?  "  I  suggests. 

* '  No,  hang  it  all !  "  says  he.  * '  That  was  too 
much.  She — she  mentioned  it,  did  she?  ': 


CUTTING  IN  ON  THE  BLISS       259 

"  Just  casual,"  says  I.  "  I  take  it  things 
ain't  been  goin'  smooth  gen 'rally?  " 

He  nods  gloomy.  "  You  were  bound  to  notice 
it,"  says  he.  "  Anyone  would.  I  haven't  been 
able  to  humor  all  her  whims.  Of  course,  she's 
been  used  to  having  so  much  going  on  around 
her  that  this  must  seem  rather  tame;  but  I 
thought,  you  know,  that  when  we  were  married 
— well,  she  doesn't  seem  to  realize.  And  I've 
offered  to  take  her  anywhere, — to  Newport,  to 
Lenox,  to  the  White  Mountains,  or  touring. 
Three  times  this  week  we've  packed  to  go  to 
different  places,  and  then  she's  changed  her 
mind.  But  I  can't  take  her  back  to  Long  Island, 
to  her  mother's,  so  soon,  or  ask  a  lot  of  her 
friends  up  here.  It  would  be  absurd.  But 
things  can't  go  on  this  way,  either.  It — it's 
awful!  " 

I  leaves  him  with  his  chin  propped  up  in  his 
hands,  starin'  gloomy  at  the  floor,  while  I  wan 
ders  out  and  pipes  off  the  sun  dodgin'  behind 
the  hills. 

Later  on  Robbie  insists  on  draggin'  me  in 
for  dinner  with  'em.  She's  some  dream  too, 
the  way  she's  got  herself  up,  and  lighted  up 
by  the  pink  candleshades,  with  them  big  pansy 
eyes  sparklin',  and  the  color  comin'  and  goin' 
in  her  cheeks — say,  it  most  made  me  dizzy  to 
look.  Then  to  hear  her  rattle  on  in  her  cute, 
kittenish  way  was  better 'n  a  cabaret  show. 


260  ON  WITH  TOECHY 

Mostly,  though,  it's  aimed  at  me;  while  Nick 
Talbot  is  left  to  play  a  thinkin'  part.  He  sits 
watchin'  her  with  sort  of  a  dumb,  hungry  look, 
like  a  big  dog. 

And  it  was  a  punk  dinner  in  other  ways. 
The  soup  was  scorched  somethin'  fierce;  but 
Eobbie  don't  seem  to  notice  it.  The  roast 
lamb  hadn't  had  the  red  cooked  out  of  it;  but 
Eobbie  only  asks  what  kind  of  meat  it  is  and 
remarks  that  it  tastes  queer.  She  has  a  reg'lar 
fit,  though,  because  the  dessert  is  peach  ice 
cream  with  fresh  fruit  flavorin'. 

11  And  Cook  ought  to  know  that  I  like  straw 
berry  better,"  says  she. 

"  But  it's  too  late  for  strawberries,"  explains 
Nick. 

"  I  don't  care!  "  pouts  Eobbie.  "  I  don't 
like  this,  and  I'm  going  to  send  it  all  back  to 
the  kitchen."  She  does  it  too,  and  the  maid 
grins  impudent  as  she  lugs  it  out. 

That  was  a  sample  of  the  way  Eobbie  be 
haved  for  the  rest  of  the  evenin', — chatterin' 
and  laughin'  one  minute,  almost  weepin'  the 
next;  until  fin'lly  she  slams  down  the  piano 
cover  and  flounces  off  to  her  room.  Nick 
Talbot  sits  bitin'  his  lips  and  lookin'  des- 
p'rate. 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know  what  to  do,"  says 
he  half  to  himself. 

At  that  I  can't  hold  it  any  longer.    "  Say, 


CUTTING  IN  ON  THE  BLISS       261 

Talbot,"  says  I,  "  before  we  get  any  further 
I  got  to  own  up  that  I'm  a  ringer." 

"  A — a  what?  "  says  he,  starin'  puzzled. 

"I'm  supposed  to  be  here  just  as  a  special 
messenger,"  says  I;  "  but,  on  the  level,  I  was 
sent  up  here  to  sleuth  for  brutal  acts.  Uh-huh ! 
That's  what  the  folks  at  home  think,  from  the 
letters  she's  been  writin'.  Mr.  Robert  was  dead 
sure  of  it.  But  I  see  now  they  had  the  wrong 
dope.  I  guess  I've  got  the  idea.  What  you're 
up  against  is  simply  a  spoiled  kid  proposition, 
and  if  you  don't  mind  my  mixin'  in  I'd  like  to 
state  what  I  think  I'd  do  if  it  was  me." 

"  Well,  what?  "  says  he. 

"I'd  whittle  a  handle  on  a  good  thick  shin 
gle,"  says  I,  "  and  use  it." 

He  stiffens  a  little  at  that  first  off,  and  then 
looks  at  me  curious.  Next  he  chuckles.  "  By 
Jove,  though !  ' '  says  he  after  awhile. 

Yes,  we  had  a  long  talk,  chummy  and  confi 
dential,  and  before  we  turns  in  Nick  has  plotted 
out  a  substitute  for  the  shingle  programme  that 
he  promises  to  try  on  first  thing  next  mornin'. 
I  didn't  expect  to  be  in  on  it;  but  we  happens 
to  be  sittin'  on  the  veranda  waitin'  for  break 
fast,  when  out  comes  Robbie  in  a  pink  mornin* 
gown  with  a  cute  boudoir  cap  on  her  head. 

"  Why  haven't  they  sent  up  my  coffee  and 
rolls?  "  she  demands. 

"  Did  you  order  them,  Robbie?  "  says  Nick. 


262  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

"  Why  no,"  says  she.    "  Didn't  you?  " 

"  No,"  says  Nick.  "I'm  not  going  to,  either. 
You're  mistress  of  the  house,  you  know, 
Robbie,  and  from  now  on  you  are  in  full 
charge. ' ' 

"  But — but  I  thought  Mrs.  Parkins,  the 
housekeeper,  was  to  manage  all  those  things," 
says  she. 

"  You  said  yesterday  you  couldn't  bear  Mrs. 
Parkins,"  says  Nick;  "so  I'm  sending  her 
back  to  town.  She's  packing  her  things  now. 
There  are  four  servants  left,  though,  which  is 
enough.  But  they  need  straightening  out.  They 
are  squabbling  over  their  work,  and  neglecting 
it.  You  will  have  to  settle  all  that." 

"But— but,  Nick,"  protests  Robbie,  "I'm 
sure  I  know  nothing  at  all  about  it." 

"  As  my  wife  you  are  supposed  to,"  says 
Nick.  "  You  must  learn.  Anyway,  I've  told 
them  they  needn't  do  another  stroke  until  they 
get  orders  from  you.  And  I  wish  you'd  begin. 
I'd  rather  like  breakfast." 

He's  real  calm  and  pleasant  about  it;  but 
there's  somethin'  solid  about  the  way  his  jaw 
is  set.  Robbie  eyes  him  a  minute  hesitatin'  and 
doubtful,  like  a  schoolgirl  that's  bein'  scolded. 
Then  all  of  a  sudden  there's  a  change.  The 
pout  comes  off  her  lips,  her  chin  stops  tremblin', 
and  she  squares  her  shoulders. 

"  I'm — I'm  sorry,  Nicholas,"  says  she.    "  I 


CUTTING  IN  ON  THE  BLISS       263 

— I'll  do  my  best."  And  off  she  marches  to  the 
kitchen. 

And,  say,  half  an  hour  later  we  were  all  sit- 
tin'  down  to  as  good  a  ham  omelet  as  I  ever 
tasted.  When  I  left  with  Nick  to  catch  the  fore 
noon  express,  young  Mrs.  Talbot  was  chewin' 
the  end  of  a  lead  pencil,  with  them  pansy  eyes 
of  hers  glued  on  a  pad  where  she  was  dopin' 
out  her  first  dinner  order.  She  would  break 
away  from  it  only  long  enough  to  give  Hubby 
a  little  bird  peck  on  the  cheek;  but  he  seems 
tickled  to  death  with  that. 

So  it  wa'n't  any  long  report  I  has  to  hand  in 
to  Mr.  Robert  that  night. 

"  All  bunk!  "  says  I.  "  Just  a  case  of  a 
honeymoon  that  rose  a  little  late.  It's  shinin' 
steady  now,  though.  But,  say,  I  hope  I'm  never 
batty  enough  to  fall  for  one  of  the  butterfly 
kind.  If  I  do — good  night !  ' ' 


CHAPTER  XV 

BEING  SICCED  ON  PERCEY 

MAYBE  it  ain't  figured  in  the  headlines,  or 
been  noised  around  enough  for  the  common 
stockholders  to  get  panicky  over  it,  but,  believe 
me,  it  was  some  battle!  Uh-huh!  What  else 
could  you  expect  with  Old  Hickory  Ellins  on 
one  side  and  George  "Wesley  Jones  on  the  other? 
And  me?  Say,  as  it  happens,  I  was  right  on  the 
firin'  line.  Talk  about  your  drummer  boys  of 
'61 — I  guess  the  office  boy  of  this  A.  M.  ain't 
such  a  dead  one ! 

Course  I  knew  when  Piddie  begins  tiptoein' 
around  important,  and  Mr.  Robert  cuts  his 
lunchtime  down  to  an  hour,  that  there's  some 
thing  in  the  air  besides  humidity. 

"  Boy,"  says  Old  Hickory,  shootin'  his  words 
out  past  the  stub  of  a  thick  black  cigar,  "I'm 
expecting  a  Mr.  Jones  sometime  this  after 
noon." 

"  Yes,  Sir,"  says  I.  "  Any  particular  Jones, 
Sir?  " 

"  That,"  says  he,  "  is  a  detail  with  whichi 
you  need  not  burden  your  mind.  I  am  not  an 
ticipating  a  convention  of  Joneses." 

264 


BEING  SICCED  ON  PERCEY       265 

"  Oh!  "  says  I.  "  I  was  only  thinkin'  that 
in  case  some  other  guy  by  the  same  name 
should " 

"  Yes,  I  understand,"  he  breaks  in;  "  but  in 
that  remote  contingency  I  will  do  my  best  to 
handle  the  situation  alone.  And  when  Mr. 
Jones  comes  show  him  in  at  once.  After  that 
I  am  engaged  for  the  remainder  of  the  day.  Is 
that  quite  clear?  " 

"I'm  next,"  says  I.  "  Pass  a  Jones,  and 
then  set  the  block." 

If  he  thought  he  could  mesmerize  me  by  any 
such  simple  motions  as  that  he  had  another 
guess.  Why,  even  if  it  had  been  my  first  day 
on  the  job,  I'd  have  been  hep  that  it  wa'n't  any 
common  weekday  Jones  he  was  expectin'  to 
stray  in  accidental.  Besides,  the  minute  I  spots 
that  long,  thin  nose,  the  close-cropped,  grizzly 
mustache,  and  the  tired  gray  eyes  with  the 
heavy  bags  underneath,  I  knew  it  was  George 
Wesley  himself.  Ain't  his  pictures  been  printed 
often  enough  lately? 

He  looks  the  part  too,  and  no  wonder!  If 
I'd  been  hammered  the  way  he  has,  with  seven 
teen  varieties  of  Rube  Legislatures  shootin'  my 
past  career  as  full  of  holes  as  a  Swiss  cheese, 
grand  juries  handin'  down  new  indictments 
every  week  end,  four  thousand  grouchy  share 
holders  howlin'  about  pared  dividends,  and 
twice  as  many  editorial  pens  proddin'  'em. 


266  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

along — well,  take  it  from  me,  I'd  be  on  my  way 
towards  the  tall  trees  with  my  tongue  hangin' 
out! 

Here  he  is,  though,  with  his  shoulders  back 
and  a  sketchy,  sarcastic  smile  flickerin'  in  his 
mouth  corners  as  he  shows  up  for  a  hand-to- 
hand  set-to  with  Old  Hickory  Ellins.  Course 
it's  news  to  me  that  the  Corrugated  interests 
and  the  P.,  B.  &  R.  road  are  mixed  up  anywhere 
along  the  line;  but  it  ain't  surprisin'. 

Besides  mines  and  rollin'  mills,  we  do  a  whole 
sale  grocery  business,  run  a  few  banks,  own  a 
lot  of  steam  freighters,  and  have  all  kinds  of 
queer  ginks  on  our  payroll,  from  welfare  work 
ers  to  would-be  statesmen.  We're  always  ready 
to  slip  one  of  our  directors  onto  a  railroad 
board  too ;  so  I  takes  it  that  the  way  P.,  B.  &  R. 
has  been  juggled  lately  was  a  game  that  touches 
us  somewhere  on  the  raw.  Must  be  some  kind 
of  a  war  on  the  slate,  or  Old  Hickory 'd  never 
called  for  a  topliner  like  George  Wesley  Jones 
to  come  on  the  carpet.  If  it  had  been  a  case 
of  passin'  the  peace  pipe,  Mr.  Ellins  would  be 
goin'  out  to  Chicago  to  see  him. 

"  Mr.  Jones,  Sir,"  says  I,  throwin'  the  pri 
vate  office  door  wide  open  so  it  would  take  me 
longer  to  shut  it. 

But  Old  Hickory  don't  intend  to  give  me  any 
chance  to  pipe  off  the  greetin'.  He  just  glances 
casual  at  Mr.  Jones,  then  fixes  them  rock-drill 


BEING  SICCED  ON  PEECEY       267 

eyes  of  his  on  me,  jerks  his  thumb  impatient 
over  his  shoulder,  and  waits  until  there's  three 
inches  of  fireproof  material  between  me  and  the 
scene  of  the  conflict. 

So  I  strolls  back  to  my  chair  behind  the  brass 
rail  and  winks  mysterious  at  the  lady  typists. 
Two  of  'em  giggles  nervous.  Say,  they  got 
more  curiosity,  them  flossy  key  pounders !  Not 
one  of  the  bunch  but  what  knew  things  was 
doin';  but  what  it  was  all  about  would  have 
taken  me  a  week  to  explain  to  'em,  even  if  I'd 
known  myself. 

And  I  expect  I  wouldn't  have  had  more'n  a 
vague  glimmer,  either,  if  it  hadn't  been  for 
Piddie.  You  might  know  he'd  play  the  boob 
somehow  if  anything  important  was  on.  Say, 
if  he'd  trotted  in  there  once  durin'  the  fore 
noon  he'd  been  in  a  dozen  times;  seein'  that  the 
inkwells  was  filled,  puttin'  on  new  desk  blotters, 
and  such  fool  things  as  that.  Yet  about  three- 
fifteen,  right  in  the  middle  of  the  bout,  he  has 
to  answer  a  ring,  and  it  turns  out  he's  forgot 
ten  some  important  papers. 

"  Here,  Boy,"  says  he,  comin'  out  peevish, 
"  this  must  go  to  Mr.  Ellins  at  once." 

"Huh!"  says  I,  glancin'  at  the  file  title. 
"  Copy  of  charter  of  the  Palisades  Electric! 
At  once  is  good.  Ought  to  have  been  on  Mr. 
Ellins 's  desk  hours  ago." 

Boy!  "  he  explodes  threatenin'. 


i  ( 


268  ON  WITH  TORCHY. 

' '  Ah,  ditch  the  hysterics,  Peddie !  ' '  says  I. 
"  It's  all  right  now  I'm  on  the  job,"  and  with 
a  grin  to  comfort  him  I  slips  through  Mr. 
Robert's  room  and  taps  on  the  door  of  the 
boss's  private  office  before  bio  win'  in. 

And,  say,  it  looks  like  I've  arrived  almost  in 
time  for  the  final  clinch.  Old  Hickory  is  leanin' 
forward  earnest,  his  jaw  shoved  out,  his  eyes 
narrowed  to  slits,  and  he's  poundin'  the  chair 
arm  with  his  big  ham  fist. 

11  What  I  want  to  know,  Jones,"  he's  sayin', 
11  is  simply  this:  Are  your  folks  going  to  drop 
that  Palisades  road  scheme,  or  aren't  you?  " 

Course,  I  can't  break  into  a  dialogue  at  a  point 
like  that ;  so  I  closes  the  door  gentle  behind  me 
and  backs  against  the  knob,  watchin'  George 
Wesley,  who's  sittin'  there  with  his  chin  down 
and  his  eyes  on  the  rug. 

"  Really,  Ellins,"  says  he,  "  I  can't  give  you 
an  answer  to  that.  I — er — I  must  refer  you  to 
our  Mr.  Sturgis." 

"Eh?"  snaps  old  Hickory.  "Sturgis! 
Who  the  syncopated  sculpins  is  Sturgis?  ' 

"  Why,"  says  Mr.  Jones,  "  Percey  J.  Sturgis. 
He  is  my  personal  agent  in  all  such  matters, 
and  this — well,  this  happens  to  be  his  pet  enter 
prise." 

"  But  it  would  parallel  our  proposed  West 
Point  line,"  says  Mr.  Ellins. 

"  I  know,"  says  G.  Wesley,  sighin'  weary. 


BEING  SICCED  ON  PERCEY       269 

"  But  he  secured  his  charter  for  this  two  years 
ago,  and  I  promised  to  back  him.  He  insists 
on  pushing  it  through  too.  I  can't  very  well 
call  him  off,  you  see." 

"  Can't,  eh?  "  raps  out  Old  Hickory.  "  Then 
let  me  try.  Send  for  him." 

"  No  use,"  says  Mr.  Jones.  "  He  under 
stands  your  attitude.  He  wouldn't  come.  I 
should  advise,  if  you  have  any  proposal  to  make, 
that  you  send  a  representative  to  him." 

"  I  go  to  him,"  snorts  Mr.  Ellins,  "  to  this 
understrapper  of  yours,  this  Mr.  Percey  — 


"  Sturgis,"  puts  in  George  Wesley.  "  He 
has  offices  in  our  building.  And,  really,  it's  the 
only  way.  '  ' 

Old  Hickory  glares  and  puffs  like  he  was 
goin'  to  blow  a  cylinder  head.  But  that's  just 
what  Hickory  Ellins  don't  do  at  a  time  like  this. 
When  you  think  he's  nearest  to  goin'  up  with  a 
bang,  that's  the  time  when  he's  apt  to  calm 
down  sudden  and  shift  tactics.  He  does  now. 
Motionin'  me  to  come  to  the  front,  he  takes  the 
envelope  I  hands  over,  glances  at  it  thoughtful 
a  second,  and  then  remarks  casual  : 

"  Very  well,  Jones.  I'll  send  a  representa 
tive  to  your  Mr.  Sturgis.  I'll  send  Torchy, 
here.  '  ' 

I  don't  know  which  of  us  gasped  louder,  me 
or  George  Wesley.  Got  him  in  the  short  ribs, 


270  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

that  proposition  did.  But,  say,  he's  a  game 
old  sport,  even  if  the  papers  are  callin'  him. 
everything  from  highway  robber  to  yellow 
dog.  He  shrugs  his  shoulders  and  bows 
polite. 

"  As  you  choose,  Ellins,"  says  he. 

Maybe  he  thinks  it's  a  bluff;  but  it's  nothing 
like  that. 

"  Boy,"  says  Old  Hickory,  handin'  back  the 
envelope,  "  go  find  Mr.  Percey  J.  Sturgis,  ex 
plain  to  him  that  the  president  of  the  P.,  B.  & 
E.  is  bound  under  a  personal  agreement  not  to 
parallel  any  lines  in  which  the  Corrugated  holds 
a  one-third  interest.  Tell  him  I  demand  that 
he  quit  on  this  Palisades  route.  If  he  won't, 
offer  to  buy  his  blasted  charter.  Bid  up  to  one 
hundred  thousand,  then  'phone  me.  Got  all 
that?  " 

"  I  could  say  it  backwards,"  says  I.  "  Shake 
the  club  first;  then  wave  the  kale  at  him.  Do 
I  take  a  flyin' start?  " 

"  Go  now,"  says  Old  Hickory.  "  We  will 
wait  here  until  five.  If  he  wants  to  know  who 
you  are,  tell  him  you're  my  office  boy." 

Wa'n't  that  rubbin'  in  the  salt,  though? 
But  it  ain't  safe  to  stir  up  Hickory  Ellins  un 
less  you  got  him  tied  to  a  post,  and  even  then 
you  want  to  use  a  long  stick.  As  I  sails  out  and 
grabs  my  new  fall  derby  off  the  peg  Piddie 
asks  breathless: 


BEING  SICCED  ON  PERCEY       271 

"  What's  the  matter  now,  and  where  are  you 
off  to?  " 

"  Outside  business  for  the  boss,"  says  I. 
"  Buyin'  up  a  railroad  for  him,  that's  all." 

I  left  him  purple  in  the  face,  dashes  across 
to  the  Subway,  and  inside  of  fifteen  minutes  I'm 
listenin'  fidgety  while  a  private  secretary  ex 
plains  how  Mr.  Sturgis  is  just  leavin'  town  on 
important  business  and  can't  possibly  see  me 
today. 

II  Deah-uh  me!  "  says  I.    "  How  distressing 
Say,  you  watch  me  flag  him  on  the  jump." 

"  But  I've  just  told  you,"  insists  the  secre 
tary,  "  that  Mr.  Sturgis  cannot " 

"  Ah,  mooshwaw!  "  says  I.  "  This  is  a  case 
of  must — see?  If  you  put  me  out  I'll  lay  for 
him  on  the  way  to  the  elevator." 

Course  with  some  parties  that  might  be  a 
risky  tackle ;  but  anyone  with  a  front  name  like 
Percey  I'm  takin'  a  chance  on.  Percey!  List 
ens  like  one  of  the  silky-haired  kind  that  wears 
heliotrope  silk  socks,  don't  it?  But,  say,  what 
finally  shows  up  is  a  wide,  heavy  built  gent 
with  a  big,  homespun  sort  of  face,  crispy  brown 
hair  a  little  long  over  the  ears,  and  the  steadiest 
pair  of  bright  brown  eyes  I  ever  saw.  Nothing 
fancy  or  frail  about  Percey  J.  Sturgis.  He's 
solid  and  substantial,  from  his  wide-soled  No. 
10 's  up  to  the  crown  of  his  seven  three-quarter 
hat.  He  has  a  raincoat  thrown  careless  over 


272  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

one  arm,  and  he's  smokin'  a  cigar  as  big  and 
black  as  any  of  Old  Hickory's. 

"  Well,  what  is  it,  Son?  "  says  he  in  one  of 
them  deep  barytones  that  you  feel  all  the  way 
through  to  your  backbone. 

And  this  is  what  I've  been  sent  out  either  to 
scare  off  or  buy  up!  Still,  you  can't  die  but 
once. 

"I'm  from  Mr.  Ellins  of  the  Corrugated 
Trust,"  says  I. 

"  Ah!  "  says  he,  smilin'  easy. 

Well,  considerin'  how  my  knees  was  wabblin', 
I  expect  I  put  the  proposition  over  fairly 
strong. 

* '  You  may  tell  Mr.  Ellins  for  me, ' '  says  he, 
41  that  I  don't  intend  to  quit." 

"  Then  it's  a  case  of  buy,"  says  I.  "  What's 
the  charter  worth,  spot  cash?  ' 

"  Sorry,"  says  he,  "  but  I'm  too  busy  to  talk 
about  that  just  now.  I'm  just  starting  for 
North  Jersey." 

"  Suppose  I  trail  along  a  ways  then?  "  says 
I.  "  Mr.  Ellins  is  waitin'  for  an  answer." 

"  Is  he?  "  says  Percey  J.  "  Then  come,  if 
you  wish."  And  what  does  he  do  but  tow  me 
down  to  a  big  tourin'  car  and  wave  me  into  one 
of  the  back  seats  with  him.  Listens  quiet  to  all 
I've  got  to  say  too,  while  we're  tearin'  uptown, 
moddin'  his  head  now  and  then,  with  them  wide- 
set  brown  eyes  of  his  watchin'  me  amused  and 


BEING  SICCED  ON  PERCEY       273 

curious.  But  the  scare  I'm  tryin'  to  throw  into 
him  don't  seem  to  take  effect  at  all. 

"  Let's  see,"  says  he,  as  we  rolls  onto  the 
Fort  Lee  ferry,  * '  just  what  is  your  official  posi 
tion  with  the  Corrugated!  " 

I'd  planned  to  shoot  it  at  him  bold  and  crush- 
in'.  But  somehow  it  don't  happen  that  way. 
"  Head  office  boy,"  says  I,  blushin'  apologizing 
"  but  Mr.  Ellins  sent  me  out  himself." 

"  Indeed?  "  says  he.  "  Another  of  his  orig 
inal  ideas.  A  brilliant  man,  Mr.  Ellins." 

"  He's  some  stayer  in  a  scrap,  believe  me!  " 
says  I.  "  And  he's  got  the  harpoon  out  for  this 
Palisades  road." 

"  So  have  a  good  many  others,"  says  Mr. 
Sturgis,  chucklin'.  "  In  fact,  I  don't  mind  ad 
mitting  that  I  am  as  near  to  being  beaten  on 
this  enterprise  as  I've  ever  been  on  anything  in 
my  life.  But  if  I  am  beaten,  it  will  not  be  by 
Mr.  Ellins.  It  will  be  by  a  hard-headed  old 
Scotch  farmer  who  owns  sixty  acres  of  scrubby 
land  which  I  must  cross  in  order  to  complete 
my  right  of  way.  He  won't  sell  a  foot.  I've 
been  trying  for  six  months  to  get  in  touch  with 
him;  but  he's  as  stubborn  as  a  cedar  stump. 
And  if  I  don't  run  a  car  over  rails  before  next 
June  my  charter  lapses.  So  I'm  going  up  now 
to  try  a  personal  interview.  If  I  fail,  my  char 
ter  isn't  worth  a  postage  stamp.  But,  win  or 
lose,  it  isn't  for  sale  to  Hickory  Ellins." 


274  ON  WITH  TOUCHY 

He  wa'n't  ugly  about  it.  He  just  states  the 
case  calm  and  conversational ;  but  somehow  you 
was  dead  sure  he  meant  it. 

11  All  right,"  says  I.  "  Then  maybe  when  I 
see  how  you  come  out  I'll  have  something  defi 
nite  to  report." 

"  You  should,"  says  he. 

That's  where  we  dropped  the  subject.  It's 
some  swell  ride  we  had  up  along  the  top  of  the 
Palisades,  and  on  and  on  until  we're  well  across 
the  State  line  into  New  York.  Along  about 
four- thirty  he  says  we're  most  there.  We  was 
rollin'  through  a  jay  four  corners,  where  the 
postoffice  occupies  one  window  of  the  gen'ral 
store,  with  the  Masonic  Lodge  overhead,  when 
alongside  the  road  we  comes  across  a  little  tow- 
headed  girl,  maybe  eight  or  nine,  pawin'  around 
in  the  grass  and  sobbin'  doleful. 

"  Hold  up,  Martin,"  sings  out  Mr.  Sturgis  to 
the  chauffeur,  and  Martin  jams  on  his  emer 
gency  so  the  brake  drums  squeal. 

What  do  you  guess?  Why  Percey  J.  climbs 
out,  asks  the  kid  gentle  what  all  the  woe  is 
about,  and  discovers  that  she's  lost  a  whole 
nickel  that  Daddy  has  given  her  to  buy  lolly- 
pops  with  on  account  of  its  bein'  her  birthday. 

"  Now  that's  too  bad,  isn't  it,  little  one?  " 
says  Mr.  Sturgis.  "  But  I  guess  we  can  fix 
that.  Come  on,  Martin,  take  us  back  to  the 
store." 


BEING  SICCED  ON  PERCEY       275 

Took  out  his  handkerchief,  Percey  did,  and 
swabbed  off  the  tear  stains,  all  the  while  talkin' 
low  and  soothin'  to  the  kid,  until  he  got  her 
calmed  down.  And  when  they  came  out  of  the 
store  she  was  carryin'  a  pound  box  of  choc 'late 
creams  tied  up  flossy  with  a  pink  ribbon.  With 
her  eyes  bugged  and  so  tickled  she  can't  say  a 
word,  she  lets  go  of  his  hand  and  dashes  back 
up  the  road,  most  likely  bent  on  showin'  the 
folks  at  home  the  results  of  the  miracle  that's 
happened  to  her. 

That's  the  kind  of  a  guy  Percey  J.  Sturgis  is, 
even  when  he  has  worries  of  his  own.  You'd 
most  thought  he  was  due  for  a  run  of  luck  after 
a  kind  act  like  that.  But  someone  must  have 
had  their  fingers  crossed;  for  as  Martin  backs 
up  to  turn  around  he  connects  a  rear  tire  with 
a  broken  ginger  ale  bottle  and — s-s-s-sh!  out 
goes  eighty-five  pounds'  pressure  to  the  square 
inch.  No  remark  from  Mr.  Sturgis.  He  lights 
a  fresh  cigar  and  for  twenty-five  minutes  by  the 
dash  clock  Martin  is  busy  shiftin'  that  husky 
shoe. 

So  we're  some  behind  schedule  when  we  pulls 
up  under  the  horse  chestnut  trees  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  beyond  in  front  of  a  barny,  weather- 
beaten  old  farmhouse  where  there's  a  sour- 
faced,  square-jawed  old  pirate  sittin'  in  a  home 
made  barrel  chair  smokin'  his  pipe  and  scowlin* 
gloomy  at  the  world  in  gen'ral.  It's  Eoss  him- 


276  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

self.  Percey  J.  don't  waste  any  hot  air  tryin' 
to  melt  him.  He  tells  the  old  guy  plain  and  sim 
ple  who  he  is  and  what  he's  after. 

"  Dinna  talk  to  me,  Mon,"  says  Ross.  "I'm 
no  sellin'  the  farm." 

"  May  I  ask  your  reasons?  "  says  Mr. 
Sturgis. 

Ross  frowns  at  him  a  minute  without  sayin' 
a  word.  Then  he  pries  the  stubby  pipe  out  from 
the  bristly  whiskers  and  points  a  crooked  finger 
toward  a  little  bunch  of  old  apple  trees  on  a  low 
knoll. 

"  Yon's  my  reason,  Mon,"  says  he  solemn. 
"  Yon  wee  white  stone.  Three  bairns  and  the 
good  wife  lay  under  it.  I'm  no  sae  youthful 
mysel'.  And  when  it's  time  for  me  to  go  I'd 
be  sleepin'  peaceful,  with  none  o'  your  rattlin' 
trolley  cars  comin'  near.  That's  why,  Mon." 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Ross,"  says  Percey  J.  "I 
can  appreciate  your  sentiments.  However,  our 
line  would  run  through  the  opposite  side  of  your 
farm,  away  over  there.  All  we  ask  is  a  fifty- 
foot  strip  across  your " 

"  You  canna  have  it,"  says  Ross  decided,  in- 
sertin'  the  pipe  once  more. 

Which  is  where  most  of  us  would  have  weak 
ened,  I  expect.  Not  Mr.  Sturgis. 

"  Just  a  moment,  Friend  Ross,"  says  he.  "I 
suppose  you  know  I  have  the  P.,  B.  &  R.  back 
of  me,  and  it's  more  than  likely  that  your  neigh- 


BEING  SICCED  ON  PERCEY       277 

bors  have  said  things  about  us.  There  is  some 
ground  for  prejudice  too.  Our  recent  stock 
deals  look  rather  bad  from  the  outside.  There 
have  been  other  circumstances  that  are  not  in 
our  favor.  But  I  want  to  assure  you  that  this 
enterprise  is  a  genuine,  honest  attempt  to  bene 
fit  you  and  your  community.  It  is  my  own.  It 
is  part  of  the  general  policy  of  the  road  for 
which  I  am  quite  willing  to  be  held  largely  re 
sponsible.  Why,  I've  had  this  project  for  a 
Palisades  trolley  road  in  mind  ever  since  I  came 
on  here  a  poor  boy,  twenty-odd  years  ago,  and 
took  my  first  trip  down  the  Hudson.  This  ought 
to  be  a  rich,  prosperous  country  here.  It  isn't. 
A  good  electric  line,  such  as  I  propose  to  build, 
equipped  with  heavy  passenger  cars  and  run 
ning  a  cheap  freight  service,  would  develop  this 
section.  It  would  open  to  the  public  a  hundred- 
mile  trip  that  for  scenic  grandeur  could  be 
equaled  nowhere  in  this  country.  Are  you  go 
ing  to  stand  in  the  way,  Mr.  Eoss,  of  an  enter 
prise  such  as  that?  " 

Yep,  he  was.  He  puffs  away  just  as  mulish 
as  ever. 

' '  Of  course, ' '  goes  on  Percey,  "  it 's  nothing  to 
you ;  but  the  one  ambition  of  my  life  has  been  to 
build  this  road.  I  want  to  do  for  this  district 
what  some  of  our  great  railroad  builders  did  for 
the  big  West.  I'm  not  a  city-bred  theorist,  nor  a 
Wall  Street  stock  manipulator.  I  was  born  in 


278  ON  WITH  TOUCHY 

a  one-story  log  house  on  a  Minnesota  farm,  and 
when  I  was  a  boy  we  hauled  our  corn  and  pota 
toes  thirty  miles  to  a  river  steamboat.  Then  the 
railroad  came  through.  Now  my  brothers  sack 
their  crops  almost  within  sight  of  a  grain  ele 
vator.  They  live  in  comfortable  houses,  send 
their  children  to  good  schools.  So  do  their 
neighbors.  The  railroad  has  turned  a  wilder 
ness  into  a  civilized  community.  On  a  smaller 
scale  here  is  a  like  opportunity.  If  you  will  let 
us  have  that  fifty-foot  strip " 

"  Na,  Mon,  not  an  inch!  "  breaks  in  Eoss. 

How  he  could  stick  to  it  against  that  smooth 
line  of  talk  I  couldn't  see.  Why,  say,  it  was  the 
most  convincing  heart- throbby  stuff  I'd  ever 
listened  to,  and  if  it  had  been  me  I'd  made 
Percey  J.  a  present  of  the  whole  shootin'  match. 

"  But  see  here,  Mr.  Eoss,"  goes  on  Sturgis, 
"  I  would  like  to  show  you  just  what  we " 

11  Daddy!  Daddy!  "  comes  a  pipin'  hail  from 
somewhere  inside,  and  out  dances  a  barefooted 
youngster  in  a  faded  blue  and  white  dress.  It's 
the  little  heroine  of  the  lost  nickel.  For  a 
second  she  gawps  at  us  sort  of  scared,  and  al 
most  decides  to  scuttle  back  into  the  house. 
Then  she  gets  another  look  at  Percey  J.,  smiles 
shy,  and  sticks  one  finger  in  her  mouth.  Percey 
he  smiles  back  encouragin'  and  holds  out  a  big, 
friendly  hand.  That  wins  her. 

Oh,  Daddy !  "  says  she,  puttin'  her  little  fist 


i  t 


BEING  SICCED  ON  PERCEY       279 

in  Percey's  confidential.  "  It's  the  mans  what 
gimme  the  candy  in  the  pitty  box ! ' ' 

As  for  Daddy  Boss,  he  stares  like  he  couldn't 
believe  his  eyes.  But  there's  the  youngster, 
cuddled  up  against  Percey  J.'s  knee  and  glanc- 
in'  up  at  him  admirin'. 

"Is  ut  so,  Mon?  "  demands  Ross  husky. 
"  Was  it  you  give  the  lass  the  sweeties?  " 

11  Why,  yes,"  admitted  Sturgis. 

"  Then  you  shall  be  knowin',"  goes  on  Ross, 
11  that  yon  lassie  is  all  I  have  left  in  the  world 
that  I  care  a  bawbee  for.  You've  done  it,  Mon. 
Tak'  as  much  of  the  farm  as  you  like  at  your 
own  price." 

Well,  that's  the  way  Percey  J.  Sturgis  won 
out.  A  lucky  stroke,  eh?  Take  it  from  me, 
there  was  more'n  that  in  it.  Hardly  a  word  he 
says  durin'  the  run  back;  for  he's  as  quiet  and 
easy  when  he's  on  top  as  when  he's  the  under 
dog.  We  shakes  hands  friendly  as  he  drops 
me  uptown  long  after  dark. 

I  had  all  night  to  think  it  over;  but  when  I 
starts  for  Old  Hickory's  office  next  mornin'  I 
hadn't  doped  out  how  I  was  goin'  to  put  it. 

"  Well,  what  about  Percey?  "  says  he. 

"  He's  the  goods,"  says  I. 

"  Couldn't  scare  him,  eh?  "  says  Old 
Hickory. 

"  Not  if  I'd  been  a  mile  high,"  says  I.  "  He 
won't  sell,  either.  And  say,  Mr.  Ellins,  you 


280  ON  WITH  TOECHY 

want  to  get  next  to  Percey  J.  The  way  I  look 
at  it,  this  George  Wesley  Jones  stiff  ain't  the 
man  behind  him;  Percey  is  the  man  behind 
Jones." 

"  H-m-m-m-m!  "  says  Old  Hickory.  "  I 
knew  there  was  someone;  but  I  couldn't  trace 
him.  So  it's  Sturgis,  eh?  That  being  so,  we 
need  him  with  us." 

"  But  ain't  he  tied  up  with  Jones?  "  says  I. 

"  Jones  is  a  dead  dog,"  says  Old  Hickory. 
"  At  least,  he  will  be  inside  of  a  week." 

That  was  some  prophecy,  eh?  Read  in  the 
papers,  didn't  you,  how  G.  Wesley  cables  over 
his  resignation  from  Baden  Two  Times? 
Couldn't  stand  the  strain.  The  directors  are 
still  squabblin'  over  who  to  put  in  as  head  of 
the  P.,  B.  &  R.;  but  if  you  want  to  play  a 
straight  inside  tip  put  your  money  on  Percey 
J.  Uh-huh!  Him  and  Old  Hickory  have  been 
confabbin'  in  there  over  an  hour  now,  and  if 
-he  hadn't  flopped  to  our  side  would  Mr.  Ellins 
be  tellin'  him  funny  stories?  Anyway,  we're 
backin'  that  Palisades  line  now,  and  it's  goin' 
through  with  a  whoop. 

Which  is  earnin'  some  int'rest  on  a  pound  of 
choc'lates  and  a  smile.  What? 


CHAPTER  XVI 

HOW   WHITY  GUNKKD  THE   PLOT 

I  KNEW  something  or  other  outside  of  busi 
ness  was  puttin'  hectic  spots  in  Old  Hickory's 
disposition  these  last  few  days;  but  not  until 
late  yesterday  did  I  guess  it  was  Cousin 
Inez. 

I  expect  the  Ellins  fam'ly  wasn't  any  too- 
proud  of  Cousin  Inez,  to  start  with ;  for  among 
other  things  she's  got  a  matrimonial  record. 
Three  hubbies  so  far,  I  understand,  two  safe  in 
a  neat  kept  plot  out  in  Los  Angeles ;  one  in  the 
discards — and  she's  just  been  celebratin'  the 
decree  by  travelin'  abroad.  They  hadn't  seen 
much  of  her  for  years;  but  durin'  this  New 
York  stopover  visit  she  seemed  to  be  makin'  up 
for  lost  time. 

About  four  foot  eight  Cousin  Inez  was  in  her 
French  heels,  and  fairly  thick  through.  Maybe 
it  was  the  way  she  dressed,  but  from  just  below 
her  double  chin  she  looked  the  same  size  all  the 
way  down.  Tie  a  Bulgarian  sash  on  a  sack  of 
bran,  and  you've  got  the  model.  Inez  was  a 
bear  for  sashes  too.  Another  thing  she  was; 

281 


:282  ON  WITH  TOBCHY 

istrong  on  was  hair.  Course,  the  store  blond 
part  didn't  quite  match  the  sandy  gray  that 
grew  underneath,  and  the  near-auburn  frontis 
piece  was  another  tint  still;  but  all  that  added 
variety  and  quantity — and  what  more  could  you 
.ask? 

Her  bein'  some  pop-eyed  helped  you  to  re 
member  Inez  the  second  time.  About  the  size 
-of  hard-boiled  eggs,  peeled,  them  eyes  of  hers 
was,  and  most  the  same  color.  They  say  she's 
a  wise  old  girl  though, — carries  on  three  dif- 
f  rent  business  propositions  left  by  her  late 
string  of  husbands,  goes  in  deep  for  classi 
cal  music,  and  is  some  kind  of  a  high  priest 
ess  in  the  theosophy  game.  A  bit  faddy, 
I  judged,  with  maybe  a  few  bats  in  her 
belfry. 

But  when  it  comes  to  investin'  some  of  her 
surplus  funds  in  Corrugated  preferred  she  has 
to  have  a  good  look  at  the  books  first,  and  makes 
Cousin  Hickory  Ellins  explain  some  items  in 
the  annual  report.  Three  or  four  times  she  was 
down*  to  the  gen'ral  offices  before  the  deal  went 
through. 

This  last  visit  of  hers  was  something  diff  'rent, 
ihough. 

I  took  the  message  down  to  Martin,  the  chauf 
feur  myself.  It  was  a  straight  call  on  the  car 
pet.  "  Tell  Cousin  Inez  the  boss  wants  to  see 
her  before  she  goes  out  this  afternoon,"  says 


HOW  WHITY  GUNKED  THE  PLOT    283 

I,  "  and  wait  with  the  limousine  until  she 
comes." 

Old  Hickory  was  pacin'  his  private  office, 
scowlin'  and  grouchy,  as  he  sends  the  word,  and 
it  didn't  take  any  second  sight  to  guess  he  was 
peeved  about  something.  I  has  to  snicker  too 
when  Cousin  Inez  floats  in,  smilin'  mushy  as 
usual. 

She  wa'n't  smilin'  any  when  she  drifts  out 
half  an  hour  later.  She's  some  flushed  behind 
the  ears,  and  her  complexion  was  a  little 
streaked  under  the  eyes.  She  holds  her  chin 
up  defiant,  though,  and  slams  the  brass  gate 
behind  her.  She'd  hardly  caught  the  elevator 
before  there  comes  a  snappy  call  for  me  on  the 
buzzer. 

"  Boy,"  says  Old  Hickory,  glarin'  at  me 
savage,  '  *  who  is  this  T.  Virgil  Bunn  ?  ' ' 

Almost  had  me  tongue-tied  for  a  minute,  he 
shoots  it  at  me  so  sudden.  "  Eh?  "  says  I. 
"  T.  Virgil?  Why,  he's  the  sculptor  poet." 

"  So  I  gather  from  this  thing,"  says  he, 
wavin'  a  thin  book  bound  in  baby  blue  and  gold. 
"  But  what  in  the  name  of  Sardanapalus  and 
Xenophon  is  a  sculptor  poet,  anyway?  " 

"  Why,  it's — it's — well,  that's  the  way  the 
papers  always  give  it,"  says  I.  "  Beyond  that 
I  pass." 

"  Humph !?>  grunts  Old  Hickory.  "Then 
perhaps  you'll  tell  me  if  this  is  poetry.  Listen  1 


284  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

"  '  Like  necklaces  of  diamonds  hung 
About  my  lady  sweet, 
So  do  we  string  our  votive  arcs 
All  up  and  down  each  street. 
They  shine  upon  the  young  and  old, 
The  fair,  the  sad,  the  grim,  the  gay; 
Who  gather  here  from  far  and  near 
To  worship  in  our  Great  White  Way.' 

"  Now  what's  your  honest  opinion  of  that, 
Son?  Is  it  poetry? 

"  Listens  something  like  it,"  says  I;  "  but  I 
wouldn't  want  to  say  for  sure." 

* '  Nor  I, ' '  says  Mr.  Ellins.  ' '  All  I  'm  certain 
of  is  that  it  isn  't  sculpture,  and  that  if  I  should 
read  any  more  of  it  I'd  be  seasick.  But  in  T. 
Virgil  Bunn  himself  I  have  an  active  and  per 
sonal  interest.  Anything  to  offer?  " 

"  Not  a  glimmer,"  says  I. 

"  And  I  suppose  you  could  find  nothing 
out?  "  he  goes  on. 

"  I  could  make  a  stab,"  says  I. 

"Make  a  deep  one,  then,"  says  he,  slippin' 
over  a  couple  of  tens  for  an  expense  fund. 

And,  say,  I  knew  when  Old  Hickory  begins  by 
unbeltin'  so  reckless  that  he  don't  mean  any 
casual  skimmin'  through  club  annuals  for  a  re 
port. 

"  What's  the  idea?  "  says  I.  "  Is  it  for  a 
financial  ratin',  or  a  reg'lar  dragnet  of  past 
performances?  " 

"  Everything  you  can  discover  without  tak 
ing  him  apart,"  says  Old  Hickory.  "  In  short, 


HOW  WHITY  GUNKED  THE  PLOT    285 

I  want  to  know  the  kind  of  person  who  can 
cause  a  fifty-five-year-old  widow  with  grown 
sons  to  make  a  blinkety  blinked  fool  of  herself." 

1 '  He's  a  charmer,  eh?  "  says  I. 

"  Evidently,"  says  Mr.  Ellins.  "  Behold  this 
inscription  here,  ;  To  dear  Inez,  My  Lady  of 
the  Unfettered  Soul — from  Virgie.'  Get  the 
point,  Son?  'To  dear  Inez'!  Bah!  Is  he 
color  blind,  or  what  ails  him?  Of  course  it's 
her  money  he's  after,  and  for  the  sake  of  her 
boys  I'm  going  to  block  him.  There!  You  see 
what  I  want?  " 

' '  Sure !  ' '  says  I.  ' '  You  got  to  have  details 
about  Virgie  before  you  can  ditch  him.  Well, 
I'll  see  what  I  can  dig  up." 

Maybe  it  strikes  you  as  a  chesty  bluff  for  a 
juvenile  party  like  me  to  start  with  no  more 
clew  than  that  to  round  up  in  a  few  hours  what 
a  high-priced  sleuth  agency  would  take  a  week 
for.  But,  say,  I  didn't  stand  guard  on  the  Sun 
day  editor's  door  two  years  with  my  eyes  and 
ears  shut.  Course,  there's  always  the  city  and 
'phone  directories  to  start  with.  Next  you  turn 
to  the  Who  book  if  you  suspect  he's  ever  done 
any  public  stunt.  But,  say,  swallow  that  Who 
dope  cautious.  They  let  'em  write  their  own 
tickets  in  that,  you  know,  and  you  got  to  make 
allowances  for  the  size  of  the  hat-band. 

I'd  got  that  far,  discovered  that  Virgie  owned 
up  to  bein'  thirty-five  and  a  bachelor,  that  he 


286  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

was  born  in  Schoharie,  son  of  Telemachus  J. 
and  Matilda  Smith  Bunn,  and  that  he'd  once 
been  president  of  the  village  literary  club,  when 
I  remembers  the  clippin'  files  we  used  to  have 
back  on  Newspaper  Row.  So  down  I  hikes — 
and  who  should  I  stack  up  against,  driftin' 
gloomy  through  the  lower  lobby,  but  Whity 
Meeks,  that  used  to  be  the  star  man  on  the 
Sunday  sheet.  Course,  it  wa'n't  any  miracle; 
for  Whity 's  almost  as  much  of  a  fixture 
there  as  Old  Gluefoot,  the  librarian,  or  the 
finger  marks  on  the  iron  pillars  in  the  press 
room. 

A  sad  example  of  blighted  ambitions,  Whity 
is.  When  I  first  knew  him  he  had  a  fresh  one 
every  Monday  mornin',  and  they  ranged  all  the 
way  from  him  plannin'  to  be  a  second  Dicky 
Davis  to  a  scheme  he  had  for  hookin'  up  with 
Tammany  and  bein'  sent  to  Congress.  Clever 
boy  too.  He  could  dash  off  pomes  that  was  al 
most  good  enough  to  print,  dope  out  the  first 
two  acts  of  a  play  that  was  bound  to  make  his 
fortune  if  he  could  ever  finish  it,  and  fake 
speeches  that  he'd  never  heard  a  word  of. 

When  he  got  to  doin'  Wall  Street  news, 
though,  and  absorbed  the  idea  that  he  could 
stack  his  little  thirty  per  against  the  system  and 
break  the  bucketshops — well,  that  was  his  finish. 
Two  killings  that  he  made  by  chance,  and  he  was 
as  good  as  chained  to  the  ticker  for  life.  No 


HOW  WHITY  GUNKED  THE  PLOT    28T 

more  new  rosy  dreams  for  him:  always  the 
same  one, — of  the  day  when  he  was  goin'  to- 
show  Sully  how  a  cotton  corner  really  ought  to* 
be  pulled  off,  a  day  when  the  closin'  gong  would 
find  him  with  the  City  Bank  in  one  fist  and  the 
Subtreasury  in  the  other.  You've  met  that  kind,, 
maybe.  Only  Whity  always  tried  to  dress  the 
part,  in  a  sporty  shepherd  plaid,  with  a  checked 
hat  and  checked  silk  socks  to  match.  He  has  the 
same  regalia  on  now,  with  a  carnation  in  his 
buttonhole. 

"Well,  mounting  margins!  "  says  he,  as  I 
swings  him  round  by  the  arm.  "  Torchyl 
Whither  away?  Come  down  to  buy  publicity 
space  for  the  Corrugated,  have  you?  " 

"  Not  in  a  rag  like  yours,  Whity,"  says  I, 
"  when  we  own  stock  in  two  real  papers.  I'm 
out  on  a  little  private  gumshoe  work  for  the 
boss." 

"  Sounds  thrilling,"  says  he.  "  Any  copy 
in  it?" 

"I'd  be  chatterin'  it  to  you,  wouldn't  I?  " 
says  I.  "  Nix!  Just  plain  fam'ly  scrap  over 
whether  Cousin  Inez  shall  marry  again  or  not. 
My  job  is  to  get  something  on  the  guy.  Don't 
happen  to  have  any  special  dope  on  T.  Virgil 
Bunn,  the  sculptor  poet,  do  you?  " 

Whity  stares  at  me.  "Do  I?"  says  he. 
"  Say!  "  Then  he  leads  me  over  between  the 
'phone  booth  and  the  cigar  stand,  flashes  an 


288  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

assignment  pad,  and  remarks,  "  Gaze  on  that 
second  item,  my  boy." 

I  'Woof!     That's  him,   all   right,"   says   I. 
"  But  what's  a  bouillabaisse  tea?  " 

"  Heaven  and  Virgil  Bunn  only  know,"  says 
Whity.  "  But  that  doesn't  matter.  Think  of 
the  subtle  irony  of  Fate  that  sends  me  up  to 
make  a  column  story  out  of  Virgie  Bunn !  Me, 
of  all  persons!  " 

I 1  Well,  why  not  you !  ' '  says  I. 
"Why?"  says  Whity.     "Because  I  made 

the  fellow.  He — why,  he  is  my  joke,  the  biggest 
scream  I  ever  put  over — my  joke,  understand? 
And  now  this  adumbrated  ass  of  a  Quigley, 
who's  been  sent  on  here  from  St.  Louis  to  take 
the  city  desk,  he  falls  for  Virgie  as  a  genuine 
personage.  Not  only  that,  but  picks  me  out  to 
cover  this  phony  tea  of  his.  And  the  stinging 
part  is,  if  I  don't  I  get  canned,  that's  all." 

1 1  Ain  't  he  the  goods,  then  ?  ' '  says  I.  ' '  What 
about  this  sculptor  poet  business?  ' 

"  Bunk,"  says  Whity,  "  nothing  but  bunk. 
Of  course,  he  does  putter  around  with  modeling 
clay  a  bit,  and  writes  the  sort  of  club-footed 
verse  they  put  in  high  school  monthlies." 

' '  Gets  it  printed  in  a  book,  though, ' '  says  I. 
*'  I've  seen  one." 

"Why  not?"  says  Whity.  "Anyone  can 
who  has  the  three  hundred  to  pay  for  plates 
and  binding.  <  Sonnets  of  the  City,'  wasn't  it? 


HOW  WHITY  GUNKED  THE  PLOT    289 

Didn't  I  get  my  commission  from  the  Easy 
Mark  Press  for  steering  him  in  ?  Why,  I  even 
scratched  off  some  of  those  things  to  help  him 
pad  out  the  book  with.  But,  say,  Torchy,  you 
ought  to  remember  him.  You  were  on  the  door 
then, — tall,  wide-shouldered  freak,  with  aureole 
hair,  and  a  close  cropped  Vandyke?  " 

"  Not  the  one  who  wore  the  Wild  West  lid 
and  talked  like  he  had  a  mouthful  of  hot  oat 
meal?  "  says  I. 

"  Your  description  of  Virgie's  English  ac 
cent  is  perfect,"  says  Whity. 

1  i  Well,  well !  ' '  says  I.  '  *  The  mushbag,  we 
used  to  call  him." 

' '  Charmingly  accurate  again !  ' '  says  Whity. 
"  Verily  beside  him  the  quivering  jellyfish  of 
the  salt  sea  was  as  the  armored  armadillo  of  the 
desert.  Soft?  You  could  poke  a  finger  through 
him  anywhere." 

"  But  what  was  his  game?  "  says  I. 

"  It  wasn't  a  game,  my  son,"  says  Whity. 
"  It  was  a  mission  in  life, — to  get  things  printed 
about  himself.  Had  no  more  modesty  about  it, 
you  know,  than  a  circus  press  agent.  Perfectly 
frank  and  ingenuous,  Virgie  was.  He'd  just 
come  and  ask  you  to  put  it  in  that  he  was  a  great 
man — just  like  that!  The  chief  used  to  froth 
at  the  mouth  on  sight  of  him.  But  Virgie 
looked  funny  to  me  in  those  days.  I  used  to 
jolly  him  along,  smoke  his  Coronas,  let  him  take 


290  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

me  out  to  swell  feeds.  Then  when  they  gave 
Merrow  charge  of  the  Sunday  side,  just  for  a 
josh  I  did  a  half -page  special  about  Virgie, 
called  him  the  sculptor  poet,  threw  in  some 
views  of  him  in  his  studio,  and  quoted  some  of 
his  verse  that  I'd  fixed  up.  It  got  by.  Virgie  was 
so  pleased  he  wanted  to  give  a  banquet  for  me; 
but  I  got  him  to  go  in  on  a  little  winter  wheat 
flier  instead.  He  didn't  drop  much.  After  that 
I'd  slip  in  a  paragraph  about  him  now  and  then, 
always  calling  him  the  sculptor  poet.  The  tag 
stuck.  Other  papers  began  to  use  it;  until,  first 
thing  I  knew,  Virgie  was  getting  away  with  it. 
Honest,  I  just  invented  him.  And  now  he 
passes  for  the  real  thing!  " 

"  Where  you  boobed,  then,  was  in  not  filin' 
copyright  papers,"  says  I.  "  But  how  does  he 
make  it  pay?  " 

"  He  doesn't,"  says  Whity.  "  Listen,  Son, 
and  I  will  divulge  the  hidden  mystery  in  the 
life  of  T.  Virgil  Bunn.  Cheese  factories !  Half 
a  dozen  or  more  of  'em,  up  Schoharie  way.  Left 
to  him,  you  know,  by  Pa  Bunn ;  a  coarse,  rough 
person,  I  am  told,  who  drank  whey  out  of  a  five- 
gallon  can,  but  was  cute  enough  to  import 
Camembert  labels  and  make  his  own  boxes.  He 
passed  on  a  dozen  years  ago ;  but  left  the  cheese 
factories  working  night  shifts.  Virgie  draws 
his  share  quarterly.  He  tried  a  year  or  two  at 
some  Rube  college,  and  then  went  abroad  to 


HOW  WHITY  GUNKED  THE  PLOT    291 

loiter.  While  there  he  exposed  himself  to  the 
sculptor's  art;  but  it  didn't  take  very  hard. 
However,  Virgie  came  back  and  acquired  the 
studio  habit.  And  you  can't  live  for  long  in  a 
studio,  you  know,  without  getting  the  itch  to  see 
yourself  in  print.  That's  what  brought  Virgie 
to  me.  And  now!  Well,  now  I  have  to  go  to 
Virgie." 

"  Ain't  as  chummy  with  him  as  you  was,  I 
take  it?  "  says  I. 

Whity  shrugs  his  shoulders  disgusted.  "  The 
saphead !  ' '  says  he.  ' '  Just  because  we  slipped 
up  on  a  few  stock  deals  he  got  cold  feet.  I 
haven't  seen  him  for  a  year.  I  wonder  how 
he  '11  take  it  ?  But  you  mentioned  a  Cousin  Inez, 
didn't  you?  " 

I  gives  Whity  a  hasty  sketch  of  the  piece, 
mentionin'  no  more  names,  but  suggestin'  that 
Virgie  stood  to  connect  with  an  overgrown 
widow's  mite  if  there  wa'n't  any  sudden  inter 
ference. 

"  Ha!  "  says  Whity,  speaMn'  tragic  through 
his  teeth.  "  An  idea!  He's  put  the  spell  on  a 
rich  widow,  has  he?  Now  if  I  could  only  man 
age  to  queer  this  autumn  leaf  romance  it  would 
even  up  for  the  laceration  of  pride  that  I  see 
coming  my  way  tonight.  Describe  the  fair 
one." 

' '  I  could  point  her  out  if  you  could  smuggle 
me  in,"  I  suggests. 


292  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

"  A  cinch!  "  says  he.  "  You're  Barry  of  the 
City  Press.  Here,  stick  some  copy  paper  in 
your  pocket.  Take  a  few  notes,  that's  all." 

11  It's  a  fierce  disguise  to  put  on,"  says  I; 
"  but  I  guess  I  can  stand  it  for  an  evenin'." 

So  about  eight-thirty  we  meets  again,  and 
proceeds  to  hunt  up  this  studio  buildin'  over 
in  the  East  30 's.  It  ain't  any  bum  Bohemian 
ranch,  either,  but  a  ten-story  elevator  joint, 
with  clipped  bay  trees  on  each  side  of  the  front 
door.  Virgie's  is  a  top  floor  suite,  with  a  boy 
in  buttons  outside  and  a  French  maid  to  take 
your  things. 

1 '  Gee !  "  I  whispers  to  Whity  as  we  pushes 
in.  "  There's  some  swell  mob  collecting  eh?  " 

Whity  is  speechless,  though,  and  when  he  gets 
his  breath  again  all  he  can  do  is  mumble  husky, 
"  Teddy  Van  Alstyne!  Mrs.  Cromer  Paige! 
The  Bertie  Gardiners!  " 

They  acted  like  a  mixed  crowd,  though,  gazin* 
around  at  each  other  curious,  groupin'  into  lit 
tle  knots,  and  chattin'  under  their  breath. 
Bein'  gents  of  the  press,  we  edges  into  a  corner 
behind  a  palm  and  waits  to  see  what  happens. 

"  There  comes  Cousin  Inez!  "  says  I,  nudgin' 
Whity.  "  See?  The  squatty  dame  with  the 
pearl  ropes  over  her  hair." 

"  Sainted  Billikens,  what  a  make-up!  "  says 
Whity. 

And,  believe  me,  Cousin  Inez  was  dolled  for 


HOW  WHITY  GUNKED  THE  PLOT    293 

fair.  She'd  peeled  for  the  fray,  as  you  might 
say.  And  if  the  dinky  shoulder  straps  held  it 
was  all  right;  but  if  one  of  'em  broke  there 'd 
sure  be  some  hurry  call  for  four  yards  of  burlap 
to  do  her  up  in.  She  seems  smilin'  and  happy, 
though,  and  keeps  glancin'  expectant  at  the  red 
velvet  draperies  in  the  back  of  the  room. 

Sure  enough,  exactly  on  the  tick  of  nine,  the 
curtains  part,  and  in  steps  the  hero  of  the 
evenin'.  Dress  suit?  Say,  you  don't  know 
Virgie.  He's  wearin'  a  reg'lar  monk's  outfit, 
of  some  coarse  brown  stuff  belted  in  with  a  thick 
rope  and  open  wide  at  the  neck. 

"  For  the  love  of  beans,  look  at  his  feet!  " 
I  whispers. 

11  Sandals,"  says  Whity,  "  and  no  socks! 
Blessed  if  Virgie  isn't  going  the  limit!  " 

There's  a  chorus  of  "  Ah-h-h-h 's !  "  as  he 
steps  out,  and  then  comes  a  buzz  of  whispers 
which  might  have  been  compliments,  and  might 
not.  But  it  don't  faze  Virgie.  He  goes  bowin' 
and  handshakin'  through  the  mob,  smilin' 
mushy  on  all  and  several,  and  actin'  as  pleased 
with  himself  as  if  he'd  taken  the  prize  at  a 
fancy  dress  ball.  You  should  have  seen  Cousin 
Inez  when  he  gets  to  her! 

"  Oh,  you  utterly  clever  man!  "  she  gushes. 
' '  What  a  genuine  genius  you  are !  ' ' 

11  Dear,  sweet  lady!  "  says  he.  "It  is  in 
deed  gracious  of  you  to  say  so. ' ' 


294  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

' '  Help !  ' '  groans  Whity,  like  he  had  a  pain. 
"  Ah,  buck  up !  "  says  I.    "  It'll  be  your  turn 
soon." 

I  was  wonderin'  how  Virgie  was  goin'  to  sim 
mer   down   enough   to   pass   Whity   the   chilly 
greetin';  for  he's  just  bubblin'  over  with  kind 
words  and  comic  little  quips.    But,  say,  he  don't 
even  try  to  shade  it. 

"  Ah,  Whity,  my  boy!  "  says  he,  extendin' 
the  cordial  paw.  ' '  Charming  of  you  to  look  me 
up  once  more,  perfectly  charming!  ': 

"  Rot!  "  growls  Whity.  "  You  know  I  was 
sent  up  here  to  do  this  blooming  spread  of 
yours.  What  sort  of  fake  is  it,  anyway!  ' 

II  Ha,  ha!     Same  old  Whity!  "  says  Virgil, 
poundin'  him  hearty  on  the  shoulder.     "  But 
you're  always  welcome,  my  boy.    As  for  the 
tea — well,  one  of  my  little  affairs,  you  know, — 
just  a  few  friends  dropping  in — feast  of  reason, 
flow  of  wit,  all  that  sort  of  thing.    You  know 
how  to  put   it.     Don't  forget  my  costume — 
picked  it  up  at  a  Trappist  monastery  in  the 
Pyrenees.     I    must    give    you    some    photos 
I've    had   taken   in   it.     Ah,    another   knight 
of    the    pencil?  "    and    he    glances    inquirin' 
at  me. 

11  City  Press,"  says  Whity. 

"  Fine!  "  says  Virgie,  beamin'.  "  Well,  you 
boys  make  yourselves  quite  at  home.  I'll  send 
Marie  over  with  cigars  and  cigarettes.  She'll 


HOW  WHITY  GUNKED  THE  PLOT    295 

help  you  to  describe  any  of  the  ladies'  costumes 
you  may  care  to  mention.  Here's  a  list  of  the 
invited  guests  too.  Now  I  must  be  stirring 
about.  Au  revoir." 

( '  Ass !  ' '  snarls  Whity  under  his  breath.  ' '  If 
I  don't  give  him  a  roast,  though, — one  of  the 
veiled  sarcastic  kind  that  will  get  past!  And 
we  must  find  some  way  of  queering  him  with 
that  rich  widow." 

"  Goin'  to  be  some  contract,  Whity,  believe 
me!  "  says  I.  "  Look  how  she's  taggin'  him 
around!  " 

And,  say,  Cousin  Inez  sure  had  the  scoopnet 
out  for  him !  Every  move  he  makes  she 's  right 
on  his  heels,  gigglin'  and  simperin'  at  all  his 
sappy  speeches  and  hangin'  onto  his  arm  part 
of  the  time.  Folks  was  nudgin'  each  other  and 
pointin'  her  out  gleeful,  and  I  could  easy  frame 
up  the  sort  of  reports  that  had  set  Old  Hick 
ory's  teeth  on  edge. 

T.  Virgil,  though,  seems  to  be  havin'  the  time 
of  his  life.  He  exhibits  some  clay  models,  either 
dancin'  girls  or  a  squad  of  mounted  cops,  I 
couldn't  make  out  which,  and  he  lets  himself 
be  persuaded  to  read  two  or  three  chunks  out  of 
his  sonnets,  very  dramatic.  Cousin  Inez  leads 
the  applause.  Then,  strikin'  a  pose,  he  claps 
his  hands,  the  velvet  curtains  are  slid  one  side, 
and  in  comes  a  French  chef  luggin'  a  tray  with 
a  whackin'  big  casserole  on  it. 


296  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

"  Voila!  "  sings  out  Virgie.  "  The  bouilla 
baisse!  " 

Marie  gets  busy  passin'  around  bowls  and 
spoons,  and  the  programme  seems  to  be  for  the 
guests  to  line  up  while  Virgie  gives  each  a 
helpin'  out  of  a  long-handled  silver  ladle.  It 
smells  mighty  good;  so  I  pushes  in  with  my 
bowl.  What  do  you  guess  I  drew?  A  portion 
of  the  tastiest  fish  soup  you  ever  met,  with  a 
lobster  claw  and  a  couple  of  clams  in  it. 
M-m-m-m ! 

"  He  may  be  a  punk  poet,"  says  I  to  Whity; 
"  but  he's  a  good  provider." 

"  Huh!  "  growls  Whity,  who  seems  to  be 
sore  on  account  of  the  hit  Virgie 's  makin'. 

Next  thing  I  knew  along  drifts  Cousin  Inez, 
who  has  sort  of  been  crowded  away  from  her 
hero,  and  camps  down  on  the  other  side  of 
Whity. 

"  Isn't  this  just  too  unique  for  words?  "  she 
gushes.  "  And  is  not  dear  Virgil  perfectly 
charming  tonight?  " 

"  Oh,  he's  a  bear  at  this  sort  of  thing,  all 
right,"  says  Whity,  "  this  and  making  cheese." 

11  Cheese!  "  echoes  Cousin  Inez. 

"  Sure!  "  says  Whity.  "  Hasn't  he  told  you 
about  his  cheese  factories?  Ask  him." 

"  But — but  I  understood  that — that  he  was 
a  poet,"  says  she,  "  a  sculptor  poet." 


HOW  WHITY  GUNKED  THE  PLOT    297 


"  Bah!  "  says  Whity.  "  He  couldn't  make 
his  salt  at  either.  All  just  a  pose!  " 

"  Why,  I  can  hardly  believe  it,"  says  Cousin 
Inez.  "  I  don't  believe  it,  either." 

"  Then  read  his  poetry  and  look  at  his  sa 
called  groups,"  goes  on  Whity. 

"  But  he's  such  a  talented,  interesting  man," 
insists  Inez. 

"  With  such  an  interesting  family  too,"  says 
Whity,  winkin'. 

"  Family!  "  gasps  Cousin  Inez. 

11  Wife  and  six  children,"  says  Whity,  lyinr 
easy. 

"  Oh — oh!  "  squeals  Inez  in  that  shrill,  raspy 
voice  of  hers. 

"  They  say  he  beats  his  wife,  though,"  adds 
Whity.  " 

'  *  Oh ! — oh !  ' '  squeals  Inez,  again,  higher  and 
shriller  than  ever.  I  expect  she'd  been  more  or 
less  keyed  up  before;  but  this  adds  the  finishinr 
touch.  And  she  lets  'em  out  reckless. 

Course,  everyone  stops  chatterin'  and  looks 
her  way.  No  wonder!  You'd  thought  she  was 
havin'  a  fit.  Over  rushes  Virgil,  ladle  in 
hand. 

"  My  dear  Inez!  "  says  he.  "  What  is  it? 
A  fishbone?  " 

"  Monster!  "  she  howls.  "  Deceiver!  Leave 
me,  never  let  me  see  your  face  again !  Oh — oh ! 
Cheese!  Six  children!  Oh— oh!  "  With  that 


298  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

she  tumbles  over  on  Whity  and  turns  purple  in 
the  face. 

Say,  it  was  some  sensation  we  had  there  for 
a  few  minutes;  but  after  they'd  sprinkled  her 
face,  and  rubbed  her  wrists,  and  poured  a  couple 
of  fingers  of  brandy  into  her,  she  revives.  And 
the  first  thing  she  catches  sight  of  is  Virgie, 
standin'  there  lookin'  puzzled,  still  holdin'  the 
soup  ladle. 

"  Monster!  "  she  hisses  at  him.  "  I  know  all 
— all !  And  I  quit  you  forever !  ' : 

With  that  she  dashes  for  the  cloakroom, 
grabs  her  opera  wrap,  and  beats  it  for  the  ele 
vator.  Course,  that  busts  up  the  show,  and 
inside  of  half  an  hour  everybody  but  us  has  left, 
and  most  of  'em  went  out  snickerin'. 

"  I — I  don't  understand  it  at  all,"  says 
Virgie,  rubbin'  his  eyes  dazed.  "  She  was  talk 
ing  with  you,  wasn't  she,  Friend  Whity?  Was 
it  something  you  said  about  me?  " 

"  Possibly,"  says  Whity,  "  I  may  have  men 
tioned  your  cheese  factories;  and  I'm  not  sure 
but  what  I  didn't  invent  a  family  for  you.  Just 
as  a  joke,  of  course.  You  don't  mind,  I  hope?  " 

And  at  that  I  was  dead  sure  someone  was 
goin'  to  be  slapped  on  the  wrist.  But,  say,  all 
Virgie  does  is  swallow  hard  a  couple  of  times; 
and  then,  as  the  full  scheme  of  the  plot  seems  to 
sink  in,  he  beams  mushy. 

"  Mind?   Why,  my  dear  boy,"  says  he,  "  you 


HOW  WHITY  GUNKED  THE  PLOT    299 

are  my  deliverer!  I  owe  you  more  than  I  can 
ever  express.  Really,  you  know,  that  ridiculous 
old  person  has  been  the  bane  of  my  existence 
for  the  last  three  weeks.  She  has  fairly 
haunted  me,  spoiled  all  my  receptions,  and — 
disturbed  me  greatly.  Ever  since  I  met  her  in 
Rome  last  winter  she  has  been  at  it.  Of  course 
I  have  tried  to  be  nice  to  her,  as  I  am  to  every 
one  who — er — who  might  help.  But  I  almost 
fancy  she  had  the  idea  that  I  would — ah — marry 
her.  Really,  I  believe  she  did.  Thank  you  a 
thousand  times,  Whity,  for  your  joke!  If  she 
comes  back,  tell  her  I  have  two  wives,  a  dozen. 
And  have  some  cigars — oh,  fill  your  pockets, 
my  boy.  And  here — the  photos  showing  me  in 
my  monk's  costume.  Be  sure  to  drop  in  at  my 
next  tea.  I'll  send  you  word.  Good  night,  and 
bless  you!  " 

He  didn't  push  us  out.  He  just  held  the  door 
open  and  patted  us  on  the  back  as  we  went 
through.  And  the  next  thing  we  knew  we  was 
down  on  the  sidewalk. 

* '  Double  crossed !  ' '  groans  Whity.  '  *  Smoth 
ered  in  mush!  " 

"  As  a  plotter,  Whity,"  says  I,  "  you're  a 
dub.  But  if  you  gunked  it  one  way,  you 
drew  a  consolation  the  other.  At  this  stage  of 
the  game  I  guess  I'm  commissioned  by  a  certain 
party  to  hand  over  to  you  a  small  token  of  his 
esteem." 


300  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

"Eh?"  says  Whity.  "  Twenty?  What 
for?  " 

"  Ah,  go  bull  the  market  with  it,  and  don't 
ask  fool  questions!  "  says  I. 

Say,  it  was  a  perfectly  swell  story  about  Vir- 
gie's  bouillabaisse  function  on  today's  society 
page,  double-column  half-tone  cut  and  all.  I 
had  to  grin  when  I  shows  it  to  Mr.  Ellins. 

"  Were  you  there,  young  man?  "  says  he, 
eyin'  me  suspicious. 

1 1  Yep !  ' '  says  I. 

"I  thought  so,"  says  he,  "  when  Cousin 
Inez  came  home  and  began  packing  her  trunks. 
I  take  it  that  affair  of  hers  with  the  sculptor 
poet  is  all  off?  " 

"  Blew  up  with  a  bang  about  ten-thirty 
p.  M.,"  says  I.  "  Your  two  tenspots  went  with 
it." 

"  Huh!  "  he  snorts.  "  That's  as  far  as  I 
care  to  inquire.  Some  day  I'm  going  to  send 
you  out  with  a  thousand  and  let  you  wreck  the 
administration. ' ' 


CHAPTER  XVII 

TORCHY  GETS  A  THROUGH  WIRE 

FIRST  off,  when  I  pipes  the  party  in  the  pale 
green  lid  and  the  fuzzy  English  topcoat,  I 
thought  it  was  some  stray  from  the  House  of 
Lords ;  but  as  it  drifts  nearer  to  the  brass  rail 
and  I  gets  a  glimpse  of  the  mild  blue  eyes  be 
hind  the  thick,  shell-rimmed  glasses,  I  discovers 
that  it's  only  Son-in-law  Ferdy;  you  know, 
hubby  to  Marjorie  Ellins  that  was. 

"Wat  ho !  "  says  I.  * '  Just  in  from  Lun- 
non?  " 

11  Why,  no,"  says  Ferdy,  gawpin'  foolish. 
"  Whatever  made  you  think  that?  " 

"  Then  it's  a  disguise,  is  it?  "  says  I,  eyin' 
the  costume  critical. 

"  Oh,  bother !  "  says  Ferdy  peevish.  "  I  told 
Marjorie  I  should  be  stared  at.  And  I  just 
despise  being  conspicuous,  you  know!  Where's 
Eobert?  " 

"  Mr.  Eobert  ain't  due  back  for  an  hour  yet," 
says  I.  "  You  could  catch  him  at  the  club,  I 
expect. ' ' 

''No,  no,"  protests  Ferdy  hasty.     "I — I 

301 


302  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

couldn't  go  to  the  club  looking  like  this.  I — I 
couldn't  stand  the  chaff  I'd  get  from  the  fel 
lows.  I'll  wait." 

"  Suit  yourself,"  says  I,  towin'  him  into  Mr. 
Robert's  private  office.  "  You  can  shed  the 
heather  wrap  in  here,  if  you  like." 

'  *  I — I  wish  I  could, ' '  says  he. 

"Wha-a-at!"  says  I.  "  She  ain't  sewed 
you  into  it,  has  she?  Anyhow,  you  don't  have 
to  keep  it  buttoned  tight  under  your  chin  with 
all  this  steam  heat  on." 

"  I  know,"  says  Ferdy,  sighin'.  "  I  nearly 
roasted,  coming  down  in  the  train.  But,  you 
see,  it — it  hides  the  tie." 

11  Eh?  "  says  I.  "  Something  else  Marjorie 
picked  out?  Let's  have  a  peek." 

Ferdy  blushes  painful.  "  It's  awful,"  he 
groans,  "  perfectly  awful!  " 

11  Not  one  of  these  nutty  Futurist  designs, 
like  a  scrambled  rainbow  shot  full  of  pink  polli- 
wogs?  "  says  I. 

"  Worse  than  that,"  says  Ferdy,  unbuttonin' 
the  overcoat  reluctant.  "  Look!  ' 

"  Zowie!    A  plush  one!  "  says  I. 

Course,  they  ain't  so  new.  I'd  seen  'em  in 
the  zippy  haberdashers'  windows  early  in  the 
fall;  but  I  don't  remember  havin'  met  one  out 
of  captivity  before.  And  this  is  about  the  plush- 
iest  affair  you  could  imagine;  bright  orange 
and  black,  and  half  an  inch  thick. 


TORCHY  GETS  A  THROUGH  WIRE  303 

1 1  Whiffo !  ' '  says  I.  ' '  That  is  something  to 
have  wished  onto  you !  Looks  like  a  caterpillar 
in  a  dream. ' ' 

"  That's  right,"  says  Ferdy.  "  It's  been  a 
perfect  nightmare  to  me  ever  since  Marjorie 
bought  it.  But  I  can't  hurt  her  feelings  by  re 
fusing  to  wear  it.  And  this  silly  hat  too — a 
scarf  instead  of  a  band!  " 

It's  almost  pathetic  the  way  Ferdy  holds  the 
lid  off  at  arm's  length  and  gazes  indignant  at  it. 

"  Draped  real  sweet,  ain't  it?  "  says  I. 
11  But  most  of  the  smart  chappies  are  wearin' 
'em  that  way,  you  know." 

"  Not  this  sickly  green  shade,  though,"  says 
Ferdy  plaintive.  "  I  wish  Marjorie  wouldn't 
get  such  things  for  me.  I — I've  always  been 
rather  particular  about  my  hats  and  ties.  I  like 
them  quiet,  you  understand." 

"  You  would  get  married,  though,"  says  L 
"  But,  say,  can't  you  do  a  duck  by  changin' 
after  you  leave  home?  " 

Seems  the  idea  hadn't  occurred  to  Ferdy. 
"  But  how?  Where?  "  says  he,  brightenin'  up. 

"  In  the  limousine  as  you're  drivin'  down  to 
the  station,"  says  I.  "  You  could  keep  an  extra 
outfit  in  the  car. ' ' 

"  By  Jove!  "  says  Ferdy.  "  Then  I  could 
ichange  again  on  the  way  home,  couldn't  I! 
And  if  Marjorie  didn't  know,  she  wouldn't " 

"  You've  surrounded  the  plot  of  the  piece,'* 


304  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

says  I.  "  Now  go  to  it.  There's  a  gents'  fur 
nisher  down  in  the  arcade." 

He's  halfway  out  to  the  elevator  before  it 
occurs  to  him  that  he  ain't  responded  with  any 
grateful  remarks ;  so  back  he  comes  to  tell  how 
much  obliged  he  is. 

11  And,  Torchy,"  he  adds,  "  you  know  you 
haven't  been  out  to  see  baby  yet.  Why,  you 
must  see  little  Ferdinand!  " 

"  Ye-e-es,  I  been  meanin'  to,"  says  I,  maybe 
not  wildly  enthusiastic.  "  I  expect  he's  quite 
a,  kid  by  this  time." 

"  Eleven  months  lacking  four  days,"  says 
Ferdy,  his  face  beamin'.  "Wait!  I  want  to 
•show  you  his  latest  picture.  Really  wonderful 
youngster,  I  tell  you." 

So  I  has  to  inspect  a  snapshot  that  Ferdy 
produces  from  his  pocketbook;  and,  while  it 
looks  about  as  insignificant  as  most  of  'em,  I 
pumps  up  some  gushy  remarks  which  seem  to 
make  a  hit  with  Ferdy. 

"  Couldn't  you  come  out  Sunday?  "  says  he. 

"  'Fraid  not,"  says  I.  "In  fact,  I'm  booked 
up  for  quite  a  spell." 

"  Too  bad,"  says  Ferdy;  "  for  we're  almost 
alone  now, — only  Peggy  and  Jane — my  little 
nieces,  you  know — and  Miss  Hemmingway, 
who " 

"  Veet  "  says  I,  comin'  straight  up  on  my 
toes.  "  Say,  Ferdy,  I  think  I  can  break  away 


TOECHY  GETS  A  THROUGH  WIRE  305 

Sunday,  after  all.  Ought  to  see  that  youngster 
of  yours,  hadn't  If  Must  be  mighty  cute  by 
now." 

"  Oh,  he  is,"  says  Ferdy;  "  but  if  you  can't 
come  this  week " 

11  Got  to,"  says  I.  "  'Leven  months,  and  me 
never  so  much  as  chucked  him  under  the  chin 
once !  Gee !  how  careless  of  me !  " 

"  All  right,  Sunday  next,"  says  Ferdy. 
"  We  shall  look  for  you." 

That  was  throwin'  in  reverse  a  little  sudden, 
I  admit;  but  my  chances  of  gettin'  within 
hailin'  distance  of  Vee  ain't  so  many  that  I  can 
afford  to  overlook  any  bets.  Besides,  up  at 
Marjorie's  is  about  the  only  place  where  I  don't 
have  to  run  the  gauntlet  goin'  in,  or  do  a  slide 
for  life  comin'  out.  She'll  shinny  on  my  side 
every  trip,  Marjorie  will — and  believe  me  I 
need  it  all ! 

Looked  like  a  special  dispensation  too,  this 
bid  of  Ferdy 's;  for  I  wanted  half  an  hour's 
private  chat  with  Vee  the  worst  way  just  then, 
to  clear  up  a  few  things.  For  instance,  my  last 
two  letters  had  come  back  with  "  Refused  " 
scratched  across  the  face,  and  I  didn't  know 
whether  it  was  some  of  Aunty's  fine  work,  or 
what.  Anyway,  it's  been  a  couple  of  months 
now  that  the  wires  have  been  down  between  us, 
and  I  was  more  or  less  anxious  to  trace  the 
break. 


306  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

So  Sunday  afternoon  don't  find  me  mis  sin' 
any  suburban  local.  Course,  Ferdy's  mighty 
intellect  ain't  suggested  to  him  anything  about 
askin'  me  out  for  a  meal;  so  I  has  to  take  a 
chance  on  what  time  to  land  there.  But  I 
strikes  the  mat  about  two-thirty  p.  M.,  and  the 
first  one  to  show  up  is  Marjorie,  lookin'  as 
plump  and  bloomin'  a  corn-fed  Venus  as 
ever. 

"  Why,  Torchy!  "  says  she,  with  business  of 
surprise. 

"  Uh-huh,"  says  I.  "  Special  invite  of  Fer 
dy's  to  come  see  the  heir  apparent.  Didn't  he 
mention  it  I  " 

"  Humph!  Ferdy!  "  says  Marjorie.  "  Did 
you  ever  know  of  him  remembering  anything 
worthwhile?  " 

11  Oh,  ho!  "  says  I.    "In  disgrace,  is  he?  ' 

"  He  is,"  says  Marjorie,  sniffin'  scornful. 
"  But  it's  nice  of  you  to  want  to  see  baby.  The 
dear  little  fellow  is  just  taking  his  afternoon 
nap.  He  wakes  up  about  four,  though. ' ' 

"  Oh,  I  don't  mind  waitin'  a  bit,"  says  I. 
"  You  know,  I'm  crazy  to  see  that  kid." 

"  Really!  "  says  Marjorie,  beamin'  delighted. 
"  Then  you  shall  go  right  up  now,  while  he 
is " 

"  No,"  says  I,  holdin'  up  one  hand.  "  I 
might  sneeze,  or  something.  I'll  just  stick 
around  until  he  wakes  up." 


TOECHY  GETS  A  THEOUGH  WIEE  307 

"  It's  too  bad,"  says  Marjorie;  "  but  Verona 
is  dressing  and " 

"  What!  "  says  I.    "  Vee  here?  " 

"  Just  going,"  says  Marjorie.  "  Her  aunty 
is  to  call  for  her  in  about  an  hour. ' ' 

Say,  then  was  no  time  for  wastin'  fleetin'  mo 
ments  on  any  bluff.  * '  Say,  Marjorie, ' '  says  I, 
"  couldn't  you  get  her  to  speed  up  the  toilet 
motions  a  bit  and  shoo  her  downstairs?  Don't 
say  who;  but  just  hint  that  someone  wants  to 
see  her  mighty  special  for  a  few  moments. 
There's  a  good  girl!  " 

Marjorie  giggles  and  shows  her  dimples.  "  I 
might  try,"  says  she.  "  Suppose  you  wait 
in  the  library,  where  there's  a  nice  log 
fire." 

So  it's  me  for  an  easy  chair  in  the  corner, 
where  I  can  watch  for  the  entrance.  Five  min 
utes  by  the  clock  on  the  mantel,  and  nothing 
happens.  Ten  minutes,  and  no  Vee.  Then  I 
hears  a  smothered  snicker  off  to  the  left.  I'd 
got  my  face  all  set  for  the  cheerful  greetin'  too, 
when  I  discovers  two  pairs  of  brown  eyes  in- 
spectin'  me  roguish  through  the  parted  por 
tieres.  And  neither  pair  was  any  I'd  ever  seen 
before. 

"  Huh!  "  thinks  I.  "  Nice  way  to  treat 
guests!  "  and  I  pretends  not  to  notice.  I've 
picked  up  a  magazine  and  am  readin'  the  pic 
tures  industrious,  when  there's  more  snickers. 


308  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

I  scowls,  fidgets  around  some,  and  fin'lly  takes 
another  glance.    The  brown  eyes  are  twinklin' 
mischievous,  all  four  of  'em. 

"Well,"  says  I,  "  what's  the  joke?  Shoot 
it!" 

At  that  into  the  room  bounces  a  couple  of 
girls,  somewhere  around  ten  and  twelve,  I 
should  judge;  tall,  long-legged  kids,  but  cute 
lookin',  and  genuine  live  wires,  from  their  toes 
up.  They're  fairly  wigglin'  with  some  kind  of 
excitement. 

' l  We  know  who  you  are !  ' '  singsongs  one, 
pointin'  the  accusin'  finger. 

"  You're  Torchy!  "  says  the  other. 

"  Then  I'm  discovered,"  says  I.  "  How'd 
you  dope  it  out!  " 

11  By  your  hair!  "  comes  in  chorus,  and  then 
they  goes  to  a  panicky  clinch  and  giggles  down 
each  other's  necks. 

"  Hey,  cut  out  the  comic  relief,"  says  I, 
"  and  give  me  a  turn.  Which  one  of  you  is 
Peggy?  " 

"  Why,  who  told  you  that?  "  demands  the 
one  with  the  red  ribbon. 

"  Oh,  I'm  some   guesser  myself,"   says  L 

II  It's  you." 

'  *  Pooh !  I  bet  it  was  Uncle  Ferdinand, ' '  says 
she. 

"  Good  sleuth  work!  "  says  I.  "  He's  the 
guy.  But  I  didn't  know  he  had  such  a  cunnin' 


set  of  nieces.  Most  as  tall  as  he  is,  ain't  you, 
Peggy?  " 

But  that  don't  happen  to  be  the  line  of  dia 
logue  they're  burnin'  to  follow  out.  Exchang- 
in'  a  look,  they  advance  mysterious  until  there's 
one  on  each  side  of  me,  and  then  Peggy  whis 
pers  dramatic: 

"  You  came  to  see  Miss  Vee,  didn't  you?  ' 

"  Vee?  "  says  I,  lookin'  puzzled.  "  Vee 
which  ? ' ' 

11  Oh,  you  know,  now!  "  protests  Jane,  tap- 
pin'  me  playful. 

"  Sorry,"  says  I,  "  but  this  is  a  baby  visit 
I'm  payin'.  Ask  Uncle  Ferdinand  if  it  ain't." 

' '  Humph !  ' '  says  Peggy.  * '  Anyone  can  fool 
Uncle  Ferdy." 

"  Besides,"  says  Jane,  "  we  saw  a  picture 
on  Vee's  dressing  table,  and  when  we  asked 
who  it  was  she  hid  it.  So  there !  " 

"  Not  a  picture  of  me,  though,"  says  I. 
"  Couldn't  be." 

"  Yes,  it  was,"  insists  Jane. 

11  A  snapshot  of  you,"  says  Peggy,  "  taken 
in  a  boat." 

I  won 't  deny  that  was  some  cheerful  bulletin ; 
but  somehow  I  had  a  hunch  it  might  be  best  not 
to  let  on  too  much.  Course,  I  could  locate  the 
time  and  place.  I  must  have  got  on  the  film 
durin'  my  stay  up  at  Roarin'  Rocks  last  sum 
mer. 


310  ON  WITH  TOECHY 

"  In  a  boat!  "  says  I.    "  Of  all  things!  " 

"  And  Vee  doesn't  want  anyone  to  know 
about  it,"  adds  Jane,  "  specially  her  aunty." 

"Why  not!  "  comes  in  Peggy,  lookin'  me 
straight  in  the  eye. 

"Very  curious!  "  says  I,  shakin'  my  head. 
"  What  else  did  Vee  have  to  say  about  me  I  ' 

"  M-m-m-m!  ':  says  Peggy.  "We  can't 
tell." 

"  We  promised  not  to,"  says  Jane. 

"  You're  a  fine  pair  of  promisers!  "  says  I. 
"  I  expect  you  hold  secrets  like  a  wire  basket 
holds  water." 

"  We  never  said  a  word,  did  we,  Peggy?  ' 
demands  Jane. 

"  Nope!  "  says  Peggy.  "  Maybe  he's  the 
one  Vee's  aunty  doesn't  like." 

"  Are  you!  "  says  Jane,  clawin'  my  shoulder 
excited. 

"How  utterly  thrillin't  "  says  I.  "Say, 
you're  gettin'  me  all  tittered  up.  Think  it's  me 
Aunty  has  the  war  club  out  for,  do  you?  ' 

"  It 's  someone  with  hair  just  like  yours,  any 
way,"  says  Peggy. 

"  Think  of  that!  "  says  I.  "  Does  red  hair 
throw  Aunty  into  convulsions,  or  what?  ' 

"  Aunt  Marjorie  says  it's  because  you — that 
is,  because  the  one  she  meant  isn't  anybody," 
says  Jane.  "He's  poor,  and  all  that.  Are 
you  poor?  " 


TORCHY  GETS  A  THROUGH  WIRE  311 

11  Me?  "  says  I.  "  Why — say,  what  is  this 
you're  tryin'  to  pull  off  on  me,  impeachment 
proceeding?  Come  now,  don't  you  guess  your 
Aunt  Marjorie'll  be  wantin'  you?  " 

"  No,"  says  Peggy.  "  She  told  us  for  good 
ness  sake  to  run  off  and  be  quiet." 

"  What  about  this  Miss  Vee  party,  then?  " 
says  I.  "  Don't  she  need  you  to  help  her  hook 
up?  " 

"  We  just  came  from  her  room,"  says 
Peggy. 

"  She  pushed  us  out  and  locked  the  door," 
adds  Jane. 

"  Great  strategy!  "  says  I.  "  Show  me  a 
door  with  a  key  in  it." 

'•  Pooh!  "  says  Peggy.  "  You  couldn't  put 
us  both  out  at  once." 

11  Couldn't  II  "  says  I.    "  Let's  see." 

With  that  I  grabs  one  under  each  arm,  and 
with  the  pair  of  'em  strugglin'  and  squealin' 
and  rough  housin'  me  for  all  they  was  worth,  I 
starts  towards  the  livin'  room.  We  was  right 
in  the  midst  of  the  scrimmage  when  in  walks 
Vee,  with  her  hat  and  furs  all  on,  lookin'  some 
classy,  take  it  from  me.  But  the  encouragin' 
part  of  it  is  that  she  smiles  friendly,  and  I 
smiles  back. 

"  Well,  you  found  someone,  didn't  you, 
girls?  "  says  she. 


312  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

"  Oh,  Vee,  Vee!  "  sings  out  Peggy  gleeful. 
"  Isn't  this  Torchy?  " 
"  Your  Torchy?  "  demands  Jane. 

I  tips  Vee  the  signal  for  gen'ral  denial  and 
winks  knowin.'    But,  say,  you  can't  get  by  with 
anything  crude  on  a  pair  of  open-eyed  kids  like 
that. 

"  Oh,  I  saw!  "  announces  Jane.  "  And  you 
do  know  him,  don't  you,  Vee?  " 

"  Why,  I  suppose  we  have  met  before?  ' 
says    she,    laughin'    ripply.      "  Haven't    we, 
Torchy?  " 

"  Now  that  you  mention  it,"  says  I,  "  I  re 
member."  And  we  shakes  hands  formal. 

"  Came  to  see  the  baby,  I  hear,"  says  Vee. 

"  Oh,  sure!  "  says  I.  "  Maybe  you  could 
tell  me  about  him  first,  though,  if  we  could  find 
a  quiet  corner." 

I 1  Oh,  we  '11  tell  you, ' '  chimes  in  Peggy.    ' '  We 
know  all  about  Baby.    He  has  a  tooth !  ' 

"  Say,"  says  I,  wigglin'  away  from  the  pair, 
"  couldn't  you  go  load  up  someone  else  with 
information,  just  for  ten  minutes  or  so?  ' 

"  What  for?  "  says  Jane,  eyin'  me  suspicious. 

"  We'd  rather  stay  here,"  says  Peggy  de 
cided. 

I  catches  a  humorous  twinkle  in  Vee's  gray 
eyes  as  she  holds  out  her  hands  to  the  girls. 
"  Listen,"  says  she  confidential.  "  You  know 
those  hermit  cookies  you're  so  fond  of?  Well, 


TOBCHY  GETS  A  THROUGH  WIKE  313 

Cook  made  a  whole  jarful  yesterday.  They're 
in  the  pantry. " 

1 '  I  know, ' '  says  Jane.  ' '  We  found  'em  last 
night." 

"  The  Glue  Sisters!  "  says  I.  "  Now  see 
here,  Bads,  I've  just  thought  of  a  message  I 
ought  to  give  to  Miss  Vee." 

"  Who  from?  "  demands  Peggy. 

11  From  a  young  chap  I  know  who  thinks  a 
lot  of  her,"  says  I.  "  It's  strictly  private  too." 

"  What's  it  about!  "  says  Jane. 

Which  was  when  my  tactics  gave  out.  * '  Say, 
you  two  human  question  marks,"  says  I,  "  beat 
it,  won't  you?  " 

No,  they  just  wouldn't.  The  best  they  would 
do  for  me  was  to  back  off  to  the  other  side  of 
the  room,  eyes  and  ears  wide  open,  and  there 
they  stood. 

"  Go  on!  "  whispers  Vee.  "  What  was  it  he 
wanted  to  say?  " 

"  It  was  about  a  couple  of  notes  he  wrote," 
says  I. 

"  Yes?  "  says  Vee.    "  What  happened?  " 

"  They  came  back,"  says  I,  "  without  being 
opened." 

"  Oh,"  says  Vee,  "  those  must  have  been  the 
ones  that " 

* '  Vee,  Vee !  ' '  breaks  in  Peggy  from  over 
near  the  window.  "  Here  comes  your  aunty." 

4 '  Good  night,  nurse !  ' '  says  I. 


314  ON  WITH  TORCHY 

"  Tell  him  it's  all  right,"  says  Vee  hasty. 
"  He  might  send  the  next  ones  in  care  of  Mar- 
jorie;  then  I'll  be  sure  of  getting  them.  By-by, 
Peggy.  Don't  squeeze  so  hard,  Jane.  No, 
please  don't  come  out,  Torchy.  Goodby." 

And  in  another  minute  I'm  left  to  the  mercy 
of  the  near-twins  once  more.  I  camps  down  in 
the  easy  chair  again,  with  one  on  each  side,  and 
the  cross  examination  proceeds.  Say,  they're 
a  great  pair  too. 

"  Didn't  Vee  want  you  to  go  out  'cause  her 
aunty  would  see  you?  "  asks  Peggy. 

"  There!  "  says  I.    "  I  wonder?  " 

"I'm  glad  she  isn't  my  aunty,"  says  Jane. 
"  She  looks  too  cross.' 

"  If  I  was  Vee's  aunty,"  puts  in  Peggy,  "  I 
wouldn't  be  mad  if  she  did  have  your  picture 
in  a  silver  frame." 

"  Honest?  "  says  I.    "  How's  that?  " 

"  'Cause  I  don't  think  you're  so  awful  hor 
rid,  even  if  you  aren't  anybody,"  says  Peggy. 
"  Do  you,  Jane?  " 

"  I  like  him,"  says  Jane.  "  I  think  his  hair's 
nice  too." 

* '  Well,  well !  ' '  says  I.  * '  Guess  I  got  some 
gallery  with  me,  anyway.  And  how  does  Vee 
stand  with  you?  " 

"  Oh,  she's  just  a  dear!  "  says  Peggy,  clap- 
pin'  her  hands. 

"  M-m-m-m!  "  echoes  Jane.    "  She's  going 


TOBCHY  GETS  A  THROUGH  WIRE  315 

to  take  us  to  see  Maude  Adams  next  Wednesday 
too." 

"  Huh!  "  says  I,  indicatin'  deep  thought. 
"  So  you'll  see  her  again  soon?  " 

"  I  wish  it  was  tomorrow,"  says  Jane. 

"  Mr.  Torchy,"  says  Peggy,  grabbin'  me  im 
pulsive  by  one  ear  and  swingin '  my  face  around, 
"  truly  now,  aren't  you  awfully  in  love  with 
Vee!  " 

Say,  where  do  they  pick  it  up,  youngsters  of 
that  age?  Her  big  brown  eyes  are  as  round  and 
serious  as  if  she  knew  all  about  it;  and  on 
the  other  side  is  Jane,  fairly  holdin'  her 
breath. 

"  Whisper!  "  says  I.  "  Could  you  two  keep 
a  secret?  " 

"  Oh,  yes!  "  comes  in  chorus. 

"  Well,  then,"  says  I,  "I'm  going  to  hand 
you  one.  I  think  Vee  is  the  best  that  ever  hap 
pened." 

'  *  Oh,  goody !  ' '  exclaims  Peggy.  ' '  Then  you 
do  love  her  awfully!  But  why  don't  you " 

"  Wait!  "  says  I.  "  When  I  get  to  be  a  lit 
tle  older,  and  some  bigger,  and  after  I've  made 
heaps  and  heaps  of  money,  and  have  a  big, 
black  automobile " 

"  And  a  big,  black  mustache,"  adds  Peggy. 

"  No,"  says  I.  "  Cut  out  the  miracles.  Call 
it  when  I'm  in  business  for  myself.  Then,  if 
somebody '11  only  choke  off  Aunty  long  enough, 


316  ON  WITH  TOKCHY 

I  may — well,  some  fine  moonlight  night  I  may 
tell  her  all  about  it." 

"  Oh!  "  gasps  Jane.  "  Mayn't  we  be  there 
to  hear  you  do  it?  " 

"  Not  if  I  can  bar  you  out,"  says  I. 

"  Please !  "  says  Peggy.  "  We  would  sit  just 

as  still  and  not Oh,  here's  Aunt  Marjorie. 

Aunty,  what  do  you  think?  Mr.  Torchy's  been 
telling  us  a  secret." 

"  There,  there,  Peggy,"  says  Marjorie, 
"don't  be  silly.  Torchy  is  waiting  to  see  Baby. 
Come!  He's  awake  now." 

Yep,  I  had  to  do  the  inspection  act,  after  all. 
And  I  must  say  that  most  of  these  infant  won 
ders  look  a  good  deal  alike;  only  Ferdinand, 
Jr.,  has  a  cute  way  of  tryin'  out  his  new  tooth 
on  your  thumb. 

Goin'  back  towards  the  station  I  meets  Ferdy 
himself,  trampin'  in  lonesome  from  a  long 
walk,  and  lookin'  mighty  glum. 

' '  Of  all  the  gloom  carriers !  ' '  says  I.  * '  What 
was  it  let  you  in  bad  this  time?  ' 

"  You  ought  to  know,"  says  he. 

"  For  why?  "  says  I. 

"Oh,  fudge!"  says  he.  "I  suppose  you 
didn't  put  me  up  to  that  silly  business  of  chang 
ing  neckties  I  ' ' 

"  Gunked  it,  did  you?  "  says  I.  "  But 
how?  " 

"If  you  must  know,"  says  he,  "I  forgot  to 


TORCHY  GETS  A  THEOUGH  WIRE    317 

change  back  on  my  way  home,  and  Marjorie's 
still  furious.  She  simply  won't  let  me  explain, 
refuses  to  listen  to  a  word.  So  what  can  I 
do!  " 

"  A  cinch!  "  says  I.  "  You  got  a  pair  of 
livin'  dictaphones  in  the  house,  ain't  you? 
Work  it  off  on  Peggy  and  Jane  as  a  secret,  and 
you'll  have  your  defense  on  record  inside  of 
half  an  hour.  Cheer  up,  Ferdy.  Ishkabibble !  ' ' 


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